


Changing Realities

by JodyNorman



Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murray is out of sorts about a conference and a reunion of sorts - lunch with three friends he'd gone to school with. He's just not sure he's made much of his life. But the tables are turned when all four are abducted by mercenaries working for an old nemesis. And he plans to sell off their collective talents to the highest bidder. While Nick and Cody race to find their friend before it's too late, Murray must draw on everything he's learned as a member of the Riptide Detective Agency to keep them all alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the fanzine Boss and Bodacious #3

          Cody heard footsteps and glanced that way, never stopping the practiced moves as he swept the polishing rag along the rail of the _Riptide_.

          Nick stepped outside, shaking his head, his lips set as he carefully closed the door behind him.

          The blond sighed. "What's up?"

          "Same as always," Nick grunted, coming over to lean on the newly polished rail to his friend's left. "I don't get it. I mean, he's been on fire for this conference for the last three months–"

          "At least," Cody interjected wryly, pausing in his work.

          "And now that it's here he's about as grouchy as a bum with no booze. I swear you can't say a thing without him snapping your head off, you know?"

          Allen took a breath, held it, then exhaled. "Yeah, I know. I guess we should be glad we're not working on more than one case right now. What'd you say that set him off this time?"

          The dark-haired man gave him a sour look. "Good morning."

          The blond nodded. "I don't know, either. Maybe he just needs to talk about it."

          "Nope," Nick said succinctly. "I asked him that yesterday and he said, and I quote, 'I am perfectly capable of handling my own affairs, Nick Ryder. Thank you _very_ much.'"

          Cody rested a hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling the frustrated tension that tightened the muscles. "Don't let it get to you, buddy. You know how he gets sometimes."

          "Yeah," Nick said morosely, staring out over the dawn-lit ocean, "but most of the time I know why."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Murray rustled the pages of the journal, trying to block out the hum of voices up on deck. Hunching his shoulders, he focused on the words of the first article, absently noting the familiar name under the title. He let the words roll through his head, their sense finally drowning out the conversation outside, a conversation he knew centered around him.

          Fifteen minutes later he finished the article and sat back. The deck upstairs was blessedly silent, and he frowned at the author's name, his eyes dark. Raising his gaze from the page, he looked around his small computer room, listening to the quiet hum of machinery and automatically checking on the search he was running on one computer. There were other journals and magazines scattered around as well, most of them considerably less scholarly than the one he held, focused on detective skills and practical computer tips for data searching strategies.

          Murray looked down again at the familiar name bylining the computer science article, his gaze lingering on the fine, narrow print, an echo, he knew, of large, spacy offices, plush carpet, wide desks, and prestige.

          Angry frustration raced through him, and he abruptly ripped the article out of the journal, the glossy paper tearing. The sound echoed, and he loosened his fingers enough to drop the crumbled pages onto the floor, then threw the journal across the room. It bounced off a corner bookshelf, and he watched it fall, the pages wrinkled and torn, to hit the floor with a soft thud.

          He dropped his head in his bowed arms, fists clenched.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Murray watched as Lauren McKaren straightened her silverware, folded her napkin, and set her glass just so. She ran her fingers down the wooden arm of her chair, frowning as she studied the faint sheen of dust that marked it, then motioned a waitress over. The detective cringed at her curt words, but the waitress calmly took out a dishrag and wiped the chair, then strode off, shaking her head.

          The slim African-American looked over at Murray, arching a sculpted eyebrow. "It's so hard to get good help these days, but then, what can you expect?"

          "Well," said Murray reluctantly, "I don't believe–"

          "Yes, yes," said Eric Vicks, a black-haired, blue-eyed man in his early thirties who could have been handsome were it not for the sour lines etched around his eyes and mouth. Now he turned from his plate to the conversation with the eagerness inherent in those who dislike silence. "All brawn and no brain, if you know what I mean. But then, not everyone is blessed with our intelligence, you know." He smiled widely at Lauren, then turned to the fourth member of the group, his gaze sliding past Murray uneasily. "Don't you agree, Thomas?"

          Thomas Bingham wore the air of an older man, and his receding hairline underscored the impression, as did the slight paunch that shoved its way over his belt. He was, in fact, only in his mid-thirties, and if his hair was thinning, it was also bright blond, giving a hint of the energy he could still call upon when needed. He finished chewing his bite of lunch and swallowed, portentiously wiping his lips with his napkin before replying. "Quite, quite, Eric. But then, IQs over 150 are few and far between, and we cannot expect those with lesser intelligence to understand our standards. It's my confirmed opinion that mismanagement of the lower classes is to blame for the mess that the world is currently in, and that if people would only realize…"

          Murray stared out over the bay, wishing he had turned down the luncheon invitation when it was offered. The weekend had been exciting and enjoyable, and to end the conference with this kind of experience made his stomach roil. He couldn't even show them his most recent work; the hand-held robo-mechanism that linked him to the Roboz when he was within a specified range had been created in spare moments between cases during the last few months and had worked fine at the conference, impressing the panels he'd presented at, but had gradually picked up more and more static, finally drowning out the signal he was using. With nothing else to do while he waited for their food, he pulled out the hand-held unit and bent over it, trying to lose himself in the problem as he plucked various tools from his pockets.

          "After all," Eric drawled, the carefully constructed words annoying in Murray's ears, "we all know that problem-solving is something that the lower classes just can't quite pull off. Not with our facility."

          "Oh, absolutely," Lauren agreed as the waitress delivered their drinks and appetizers. "But then, someone must perform the menial labor necessary to keep a society going."

          Memories of listening to Cody and Nick discuss cases, and the keen minds he'd heard there, raced through Murray's mind, and he gritted his teeth against the words he wanted to fling in their faces, trying to focus on fixing the robo-mech. It wouldn't do any good to say what he wanted to say to these people; he'd had enough of these kinds of conversations across the last few years to know that. He wished he were back on board the _Riptide_ , working on a case with Nick and Cody, or even arguing with Nick and Cody, as he'd done the week before the conference. Whatever had happened to the young people he'd met at MIT those many years ago?

 _People change, Murray_ , he remembered Nick telling him. _Sometimes not for the best_.

          He had protested then, saying that surely people changed, but that everyone learned along the way and–

          He'd been wrong, and looking around at the three people he'd called friends in college, when the future was bright and full of excitement and promise, he wondered where they'd gone. That excitement had obviously never materialized for them.

          And later, as he watched them leave, his stomach rumbling uneasily with the barely digested food, he realized that he was really saying goodbye to his illusions of who they had become, and that if he never saw them again, he really wouldn't be too sorry.

          Then he saw the purse sitting forgotten in Lauren's chair, and picking it up, he hurried after them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Wonder how it's going," Cody mused as he dried the dish Nick handed him.

          Nick squeezed the dishrag dry and wiped off the counter, his gaze slipping to the clock. One o'clock. Murray's luncheon had started at 12:30, and both he and Cody couldn't focus on much of anything else, knowing that they were picking up their friend afterward.

          "Yeah," he said, draping the cloth over the rim of the sink. "Too bad Jerome couldn't make it; I think that would've made Murray happier."

          "He was really disappointed about that," Cody agreed, putting the last dish away and leading the way out of the galley and up the stairs.

          "Uh-huh," Nick said as he beat Cody through the sliding door to the half-deck, sliding into his lawn chair with the ease of long practice. Cody followed his example, and for long moments there was silence as the warm California sun wrapped them in its golden heat.

          "So, we go get him at two."

          "Um-hmm," Cody said. "More like 1:45, really."

          There was a grunt from the other chair. "The little guy didn't sound that happy about doin' lunch, you know?"

          "Yeah," answered the blond, eyes closed. "I had that impression from what you said to him."

          "Wonder why. I mean, he was kinda lookin' forward to meeting these guys at the conference." Nick shifted a little to take advantage of the angle of the sun.

          "Yeah, I know." A speedboat whined by in the close distance. "Maybe he's just ready to come home."

          "Umm," Nick said sleepily. "That'd be nice for a change."

          "Uh-huh. Well," Cody said after a long pause, "at least they sounded like people Murray could have a lot of computer talk with, you know?"

          "Yeah. Maybe some shoptalk will make him happier."

          "God, I hope so. He comes back like he was last week and we'll have to threaten to keelhaul him to find out what's going on."

          "Uh-huh…" Nick's voice trailed off into sleep, and Cody soon followed.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	2. Chapter 2

          Murray woke, blinking up at the white-painted ceiling in confusion. Around him he could hear whimpers, whispers, and a constant shuffling sound, and behind that and fairly clear, birdsong. He frowned up at the ceiling, then slowly pulled himself to a seated position, realizing as he did so that he lay on a large Persian rug. Turning his head, and wincing at the dull ache throbbing at the back of his skull, he took in the scene with one thorough glance, studying it carefully.

          The room was large. Light shaded in from northwest-facing windows that ran along one side of the room, and through the bars that criss-crossed the glass panes with graceful ironwork Murray could see shadows stretching long across an extremely landscaped yard that included flowerbeds, winding paths, and many groves of trees. The terrain extended around the house and out of sight, and the detective suspected that it surrounded the building. On this side of the house there was no sign of human habitation to be seen past the many trees, and he took an unhappy breath.

          The floor was hardwood, its fine-grained planes setting off the furniture in the room, of which most was as tasteful and elegant as Murray knew it must be expensive. Large bookshelves sat cattycorner against two walls, many books and a few knickknacks set neatly on their even-planed surfaces. A door sat between them, and through its open portal Murray could catch the glint of bathroom fixtures. A long rectangular table, polished to a soft glow, was set in one corner under one of the windows, while in the other corner was a desk, its surface skewed with many papers, in no seeming order, a few pages having fallen to the floor. A clean fireplace, the rack empty of wood, was set in the wall behind Murray. And finally, there was a couch set against the wall facing the window, a door with three wide steps leading down into the room beside it. Murray had the distinct impression that the house was multi-leveled, and this room was obviously someone's office. And he knew without trying it that the door would be locked.

          Lauren sat beside the fireplace, staring into her open compact and concentrating fiercely on applying fresh makeup. From her expression, Murray guessed that the task was, for the moment, the most important thing in her world.

          Under the window and about ten feet away from her sat Thomas, rocking back and forth, the moving material of his pant legs making the constant shushing sound that had puzzled the detective. His eyes were wide and white-rimmed, and although his gaze was seemingly focused on Murray, the younger man concluded that the computer engineer was in fact staring into space, oblivious to his surroundings. Tiny whimpers escaped his lips occasionally.

          Eric was wandering the room, and as Murray watched, the man bent and ran a hand down the underside of the table. Murray frowned, unable to fathom the move, then sighed silently as he recognized the customary reaction of a current TV detective, much maligned by Nick and Cody.

 _Guys, I could really use some help here_. He could think of a number of better companions to live through a kidnapping with than these three.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Man, I hope this was worth it," Nick growled as they pulled into the restaurant parking lot and swung into an empty space. "I was having a great dream… if he's grouchy after this, I'm gonna lock him in his room and throw away the key."

          Cody nodded, trying to hide his smile as he unsnapped the seatbelt, his mood lightening at his friend's tone. Given Nick's expression when the alarm had gone off at 1:40, he could guess the kind of dream it had interrupted. But the pilot's crankiness was due to more than just the dream, and the blond knew it. Something wasn't right…

          "Uh-oh," Nick said as they climbed out of the Jimmy and headed toward the restaurant. Several people paced the perimeter of the restaurant, and the wide-eyed expressions and nervous looks the two detectives received as they neared the group forced chills up both men's spines.

          "I've got a bad feeling about this," the brunet murmured as one of the men on the sidewalk started toward them, his steps hurried and angry.

          "Yeah, I know," Cody agreed, hearing sirens echo in the close distance. "Me, too. But it probably doesn't have anything to do with Murray." _I hope_. Nonetheless, he couldn't help noticing the patrons of the restaurant, huddled close against the windows, staring at them with the same wary expressions as those of the group outside.

          "Are you the police?" the tall man who'd moved toward them asked, his tone the truculent one of someone used to being in control of a situation and annoyed that this one differed.

          "We're detectives," Cody said as he and Nick stepped off the pavement and onto the sidewalk fronting the restaurant. "What happened here?"

          The man took a deep breath, but before he could speak, a smaller man stepped forward. "They kidnapped them!" he blurted. "Right out of the lot! Right in front of all of us! Threw them in–"

          "Suppose you start at the beginning, sir," Cody said firmly, turning to the taller man. "Your name?"

          "Sandoval Derrick," the man said briefly, his lips thin. "I run the restaurant. About fifteen minutes ago, four of our customers were leaving the building after their meal – three men and one woman. They had just reached their car when a gray van pulled up and three people wearing stocking masks jumped out and grabbed them. They hustled them into the van and departed, at speed."

          "Don't forget Mr. Bozinsky," a young woman standing next to him added.

          "What do you mean?" Nick asked, his stomach roiling uneasily.

          "Mr. Bozinsky," she said earnestly. "He was with the people who left, but he didn't leave with them. He was sitting at the table watching them go, and I don't think he would've gone after them so soon, but the lady had left her purse behind, and he picked it up and started after her."

          "And what happened?" Cody said evenly, trying to look official over the hollow feeling in his gut.

          "He reached their car just as the van pulled up," she said, her gaze dropping.

          Nick and Cody exchanged glances and looked back at her, and she blushed at their combined survey. "I was picking up my tip from a table at the window, and, well, Mr. Bozinsky was very nice with the tip, and he was, uh, quite attractive."

          Nick's lips twitched. "Cuteness wins again."

          Cody bit back a smile of his own as the girl flushed, then sobered. "Please go on, miss."

          "I think he started to say something to the kidnappers," she said, her gaze on the blond, "then he backed away. One of the men grabbed him and they struggled. I think he hit Mr. Bozinsky, because when the man threw him into the van, Mr. Bozinsky didn't try to fight back. I don't think he was conscious."

          Nick nodded, glancing toward the street as the sirens drew nearer. "Can you point to where this struggle took place?"

          Directed to the site, the two of them quickly searched the area, Nick kneeling to examine the sidewalk. He carefully dipped a finger in a dark spot and raised it. The dark red smear that resulted made Cody's stomach turn flip-flops.

          "Blood."

          Cody stepped past Nick and surveyed the surrounding area. A glint of reflected sunlight caught his eye, and he leaned down, picking up the gold pen, turning it in his fingers until the embossed name glimmered clear. _Murray_ _Bozinsky_.

          Nick joined him, reaching out to trace the name. "Murray would never lose that."

          Cody turned the pen over in his hands, absently glad it hadn't been scratched. It had been their Christmas present to the younger man the year before, and he was inordinately proud of it. "I know. That pencil holder in his pocket could pretty much hold it against anything, and there's no other pens or pencils scattered around… I think he deliberately left it here."

          Nick inhaled, held it, then sighed as the first of four police cars and an ambulance wailed into the parking lot. "For us. Yeah, you're probably right. That's why he fought with the guy instead of just going along." He glanced back as officers erupted out of the cars. "Well, do you want to talk to the lieutenant or me?"

          Cody sighed heavily and handed him the pen, turning back toward the restaurant and the rapidly gathering crowd of police officers. Joanne's voice could already be heard over the uproar. "I'll do it."


	3. Chapter 3

          "I say we kill him."

          The voice echoed through the room as the door at the top of the steps opened. Eric whirled, bouncing eagerly to face the intruders, while Lauren snapped her compact shut and climbed to her feet, her face taunt but composed. Thomas blinked, then slowly moved to stand, his jaw quivering with what Murray recognized as delayed indignation. He himself, once he'd reached his feet, stood quietly, eyeing the kidnappers as they entered.

          Two men, one woman. One of the men was obviously the leader, and had some vestiges of attractiveness, namely, blond hair and blue eyes, but no smile. The other young man, with dark hair and eyes, was scowling at Murray. The woman, dark-haired and calm, was unnerving, a slight smile on her lips.

          Murray swallowed hard as he realized that the three weren't making any attempt to hide their faces. In the parking lot they'd been masked, but now they were openly revealing themselves, and he swallowed. _Oh dear, this isn't good. No, not good at all_.

          In addition, there was a look in all three sets of eyes that chilled him with its familiarity, and he closed his mouth on what he had been about to say. Not so Thomas.

          "There's been some kind of mistake!" he blurted, taking a step forward. "Do you know who we are? I don't know what you think you're doing, but I assure you–"

          "Oh, shut up," the woman said absently, staring at Murray. "Brad, tell me again why we didn't just kill him when he bumped into our little operation. He's not on the list, so why don't we get rid of him – now?"

 _What is that look they all have? Where have I seen that before_?

          "Yeah!" the brunet said, taking a step toward Murray and fingering his holstered gun.

          Thomas swallowed hard, glancing at Murray and not so subtly edging away.

          "Well, actually–" Murray started, eyeing the young man tensely.

          Eric's eyes sparkled, cutting Murray off mid-word. "Kill him? You mean, like, kill him with a gun?" In the excitement, he reverted to his Valley upbringing, and the contrast with Thomas' affected adult voice was obvious.

          "Are you for real?" the young man snarled, turning on him.

          "Todd, as you were!" Brad snapped. "No killing until I say so! And that goes for you, too, Cara!"

          She pouted, circling Murray like a barracuda, her gun out and pointed at him. "Oh, Brad, you take all the fun out of this work. Why should you have the final say?"

          Murray stood ultra-still, suddenly recognizing the look as Sheriff Cain's, a realization that immediately forced his stomach into a hard knot.

          "Cara–"

          "Don't you know who he is?" Lauren's voice was strained, but calm, and Murray saw her jaw move as she swallowed. "Murray Bozinski is one of the most brilliant artificial intelligence scientists of this generation. Kill him, and you'll not only be guilty of murder, but of killing someone who _will_ be missed." She swallowed again, her voice shaking slightly. "And you two will be accessories to murder. That's life at least, probably the death penalty."

          Without warning, Brad swung his gun on her, striking her along the cheekbone and sending her crashing backward to the floor.

          "Now, just a minute–" Murray started toward Lauren, the rest of the comment dying as Todd poked him in the stomach with his gun. The cold muzzle of Cara's weapon touched the computer expert's neck, and he swallowed and stood still, the wild rage in Brad's eyes as he turned from Lauren quieting him as nothing else would have done. These people were not sane, and he realized, with a sudden clarity born of his separation from his teammates, that the lives of all of them might well depend on him. Silence was survival.

          Thomas stared in frozen shock, and the excitement drained from Eric like so much water, leaving him sober and scared.

          Without hesitating, Brad swung on his two associates. "Life or death, I don't care. I'm leader here, and you'll do as I say. And I say he lives." He stared them down and Murray bit back a shiver, swallowing dryly as he felt the weapon at his neck lift.

          "Oh, all right," Todd muttered, turning toward the stairs. "For now. Don't go away," he said, glancing back at the prisoners with a smile.

          Murray didn't dare move until the door closed behind them, then he dropped beside Lauren, feeling for her pulse with one hand as he pulled out his handkerchief with the other. There was a trickle of blood cutting down her face, and he carefully wiped it away.

          Eric stood rooted, staring after the group, his eyes suddenly blank, but Thomas grunted, ran a hand over his face, and dropped down on Lauren's other side.

          "Good God, what the hell do they think they're doing?" Not receiving an answer, he looked at Murray, then down at Lauren. "How is she?"

          Murray counted the pulse under his fingers, then leaned over to lift her eyelids, trying to remember all the details he'd learned by watching Nick and Cody and various medical professionals across the years. "Her pulse seems strong," he said cautiously, watching Lauren's pupils react to the light. "And it looks like she doesn't have an obvious concussion–"

          "How would you know?" Eric's voice was deliberately rude as he looked down at them. "You haven't got any experience in this kind of thing."

          Murray shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, trying not to sigh. "Well, Eric, as part of the _Riptide_ Detective Agency, I have–"

          "Have what?" Eric sneered. "Have squared accounts, done computer searches, played your games, while the rest of us–"

          "Shut up!"

          Murray jumped at Lauren's snarl, as did Thomas. The woman came to her feet with an angry growl, her balance wavering slightly. She caught it and advanced on Eric, who backed up, clearly as startled as the other two men.

          "You've always been jealous of him!" she barked, maneuvering Eric back against a wall. "He's had danger, excitement, all the things your manly little heart wanted and couldn't – daren't – have, correct? And now we're in a dangerous situation, and you're scared and so you take it out on him, the only one of us who has any experience in this kind of thing! Moron!"

          Murray studied the floor, his cheeks burning. He'd never thought of his life as particularly… glamorous, but he remembered his long ago comment to Nick and Cody. _If it weren't for you guys, I'd still be an ordinary computer geek off in a little room somewhere with my computer…_ It had never occurred to him that his colleagues might be jealous of that difference.

          "Well, mister, from now on it's all of us or none!" Lauren snarled into Eric's face. "And we'd better hope that Murray knows something we don't, because otherwise we're all up the creek!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Nick shifted uneasily as he and Cody watched the conference room fill from their position at the head of the large table. "I don't like this." It was late afternoon of the same day, but both detectives felt as if the morning had passed weeks before.

          Cody looked at him, not without sympathy. "I know, but Joanne has to inform all of the employers and their families of the situation, and she thought this was the best way."

          Nick grimaced, watching an older African-American woman with a no-nonsense air enter the room. She studied the two detectives for a moment before carefully choosing a seat on the opposite side of the table and several chairs down. "Yeah, I guess. I just hate bein' a part of it, you know? I mean, we already know the score; why do we have sit through this?"

          Cody buried a sigh. He'd already been through this conversation three times. "Because Joanne wants our analysis of the situation, and them, and we can't afford not to know all the players. Not if we want to find Murray."

          An older man entered, his frown deepening when he saw the two, then abruptly turned and seated himself at the far end of the table.

          "All right, all right," Nick said, trying to ignore the stares they were beginning to receive as more people filed in. "From the looks of it, any of them could be involved. But I just don't fit in, that's all. I just don't."

          "Nothing wrong with that, buddy," Cody said, tapping the brunet's shoulder. "I don't either, you know."

          "Hell of a lot more than me," Nick muttered, then caught his friend's glance and fell silent.

          "Hey," Cody said, leaning forward to meet his gaze, "Nick, we've been there, remember? Tricor's over, we're never going back. And we won. So relax already."

          Nick took a breath, then smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

          Cody grinned. "No problem."

          They looked up as Joanne entered, her gaze sweeping around the large table before taking the end seat next to Nick.

          "Oh, hey," Nick said, flushing slightly. "I'll just trade with Cody–"

          "No, you won't," the blond said, smiling at Joanne. "I think it would be safer to quarantine him between friends," he added in a low voice, ignoring Nick's glare.

          Joanne's eyes twinkled but her professional mask didn't slip. "Probably a good idea." She looked at the dark-haired man and smiled. "After all, Nick, we're friends, right?"

          "Of course," Nick muttered, his stare at Cody promising mayhem at another time.

          "Good," she said, briskly if softly. "Because I can use all the friends I can get right now." She stood as the last few seats next to the two detectives filled with latecomers, and the buzz of talk faded as everyone's attention focused on her.


	4. Chapter 4

          Murray heard the door open and glanced around from his seat at the desk, where he'd been riffling through the chaotic piles of paper. Eric, who stood between the table and the desk, staring out the window into the darkness, saw the move and followed his look.

          Todd grinned at them, then yelled, "Lights out!"

          Murray pushed back the chair and stood, carefully shoving the chair back in so no one would trip over it during the night, and angled toward the pallet he'd made up earlier when Cara had delivered a pile of blankets and pillows to their room. Lauren blinked awake from where she lay on the couch, a substitute for a bed that all the men had insisted she take earlier, and Thomas turned from his study of one of the book-shelves, stepping toward his own makeshift bed, as did Murray. The detective had barely reached it before the room was plunged into a darkness that lightened as his eyes adjusted, and glancing out the window, he realized that the quarter-moon he'd stood under a few nights ago on the deck of the _Riptide_ had waxed to a half.

          A yell from Eric echoed eerily in the large room. "Hey! What about beds? And how about some food while you're at it!"

          There was a pause, and then the door opened slowly and someone stepped inside.

          "Oh, yeah?" Todd said softly, starting down the stairs.

          Murray, kneeling to crawl into his blankets, gulped at the man's tone, and reaching for Eric's dim figure, snagged his pants. "Eric, lie down!" he hissed, tugging at the fabric. "Believe me, you _don't_ want to anger him!"

          "Murray's right," Lauren whispered urgently. "Please, Eric, just lie down."

          Eric jerked his trousers out of Murray's grip. "No way! I want food, and just because Murray's a coward–"

          Todd had reached the floor by now, and in the moonlight he stepped over to face Eric. "So you want some food, huh? And a bed?"

          "Yeah!" Eric said belligerently. "See," he said in an aside to his invisible fellow victims, "I knew he could be reasoned with. Murray's just–"

          "Smart," Todd said briefly. There was a rough thud, and Eric doubled over and slid breathlessly to the floor.

          "Todd!" Brad barked from the doorway. "Come up here and leave them alone!"

          Murray could hear Eric gasping, trying to drag breath into lungs forcibly emptied by the blow. The others' held breaths resonated with his own.

          Todd paused, one foot lifted, then bent and grabbed Eric's hair, yanking his head up. "You hear that? You're saved – again. Don't push me, punk, or next time I'll do more than just knock the breath out of you. Hear me?"

          "Come on, Todd!"

          Eric gurgled, and Todd shook him, his grin at the scientist's whimper barely visible in the dimly-lit room. "You hear me?"

          Eric nodded furiously, and Todd's grin widened as he dropped the man unceremoniously to the floor and headed toward his leader. "Coming!" he said cheerily as he reached the steps, and a few moments later the door closed behind him.

          Murray sagged back on his heels and sighed silently. A few more times like that and the kidnappers might decide to put a few bullets in them to keep them quiet.

          "How come none of you tried to help?" Eric whispered, pausing to suck in a breath at the end of the sentence.

          "You're an idiot," Lauren said concisely from the darkness.

          "I am–"

          "For once, Eric," Thomas said tiredly, "I agree with Lauren. Murray has the right of it. For now, we exist only at the sufferance of these, well, I supposed we must call them men. It behooves us not to antagonize them unduly."

          "I'm hungry," Eric whined.

          "They'll probably feed us tomorrow," Murray said, trying not to sound as tired as he felt. "In the meantime, let's get some sleep." It occurred to him suddenly just how much like his partners he sounded, and as he fell asleep he wondered what had happened to the little computer geek he had once been.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Cody stepped off the last of the stairs and moved quietly onto the deck, his gaze immediately catching the shadow standing at the railing. "Nick?" he said lowly as he approached.

          The shadow shifted slightly, but his friend didn't turn to look at him. "Hey," Nick said softly. "Didn't mean to wake you."

          Cody shrugged, the move hidden in the darkness. "I couldn't sleep, either." He moved up beside the man and leaned against the rail, looking out over the night-quiet harbor, lit here and there with lights gleaming from various boats. Low conversations drifted across the water, and Cody took a breath of the salt air and held it, enjoying the tang.

          "You ever think about Murray?" Nick's voice was reflective, and Cody shifted to stare at him, frowning.

          "Well, sure," he said uncertainly. "All the ti–"

          "No," Nick interrupted. "Not now. I mean, when we met him. You ever wonder what it would've been like if we hadn't brought him on board?"

          "No," Cody said thoughtfully, turning to stare back out over the water, watching as another boat went dark. "Actually, I can't say I have. Have you?"

          "Yeah," Nick said softly. "Today, anyway."

          Cody waited, then, when Nick was silent, said, "So?"

          "You know, without the little guy I think the agency would've been sunk."

          The _Riptide_ bobbed slightly on the dark waves while Cody pondered the statement, then nodded. "I think you're right. Kinda scary."

          "Yeah," Nick agreed. "I mean, we're good investigators, but without Murray and his computers, we wouldn't be able to do much, you know?"

          A heavy thud echoed over the harbor, and both men grinned. "Guess that picture fell down again," Nick said, referring to the large portrait they'd seen carried on board a nearby boat three days before.

          Lights flickered on in the boat, and the blond shook his head. "That makes what, the fifth time now? You'd think they'd find a way to make it work."

          "Yeah," Nick said, his voice sobering.

          Cody glanced at him, then back at the boat. "Yeah," he said, his humor dying. "Murray's work has made all the difference for us."

          Nick nodded, and they watched as shadows wrestled with a large object on the boat in question. "And it's made a difference for him, too."

          The other detective shifted to look at him. "What's bothering you, Nick?"

          The lights on the other boat went off again, and they watched for a long moment before the silence was broken by the brunet's sigh. "I was thinking about those people today. How they looked at us when Joanne said we were Murray's partners."

          "And what we did for a living? Yeah, I remember."

          "Yeah," Nick said, shifting to look at him. "They looked at us like we were… bugs under a microscope, you know? The idea that Murray was our partner just didn't seem to compute for them; they just didn't get it."

          "No," Cody admitted, raising a hand to squeeze his friend's shoulder, "they didn't."

          "It was like they couldn't figure out what Murray was doing with us, or why he was, I don't know, 'wasting himself."

          "Still," the blond said, leaning against the rail again, "remember how that changed when Joanne told them about some of our cases."

          "Yeah," Nick said with a shrug, lifting a hand in a careless gesture. "That was something they could understand, a record like that. But Murray and us, that was impossible as far as they were concerned."

          "Yeah," Cody said softly.

          "And you know, he might be the only thing those other scientists have going for them."

          "I know."


	5. Chapter 5

          "What're you going to do with us?" Eric demanded as he scooped up another forkful of eggs from his styrofoam plate.

          It was the next morning, and the four hostages sat with the kidnappers in the kitchen of the house, eating a breakfast obviously supplied by fast food takeout.

          "Yes, what _are_ your intentions toward us?" Thomas added, putting down his coffee cup. "We are worth quite a decent amount to our employers. What is your ransom demand?"

          "Aren't doin' any," Todd said with his mouth full.

          "Excuse me?" Lauren paused mid-bite, staring.

          Murray carefully laid his fork on his plate, his gaze skipping from one kidnapper to the other. A hollow feeling began carving into his gut, and he swallowed at its familiarity. _Oh, no, not again_.

          "We're selling you," Cara purred, her eyes eager on them.

          "Yep," Brad confirmed, smiling as he poured himself a second cup of coffee. "You two," he waved at Lauren and Eric, "to one buyer and you," he nodded to Thomas, "to another. And you," he looked at Murray, "you're a bonus to whichever one will pay more for you."

          "And we have you to thank for him, too." Cara smiled at Lauren, who just blinked at her. "Murray Bozinsky has been wanted by many people for a very long time."

          Murray swallowed dryly, a familiar chill snaking down his spine.

          "Yeah," Todd smirked. "But he's been marked off-limits for a while now; too dangerous to try for. Now though… he might even go for more than you guys!"

          "You can't do that!" Lauren blinked at them, then shook her head. "You can't! Slavery is– It doesn't exist anymore! You can't–"

          "Aw, shut up," Todd growled.

          "Lock them up again," Brad commanded. "I'm not going to have my breakfast disturbed by their fussing. Cara?"

          Cara smiled, her gaze intense enough that even Lauren was silenced, and they rose together to walk ahead of her to the basement.

          The door clicked shut behind them, and Lauren stopped and stared back at it, then turned to her roommates. "How can they do this? It's– It's–"

          "Illegal!" Eric finished.

          "So, I fear, is kidnapping," Thomas' shoulders sagged. "That did not seem to deter them; I doubt this will either. But the ramifications…" He shook his head and lapsed into silence.

          "This can't be happening," Lauren took a few hesitant steps further into the room.

          "Actually," Murray sighed, pushing his glasses up, "I'm afraid it can."

          "What would you know about it?" Eric sneered, turning on him.

          Murray looked at him steadily, seeing the fear under the anger. "Well, you see, Eric, I was sold once. To Russia."

          If Murray had had any theatrical ambitions, the utter silence that followed his statement would've been gratifying. The three scientists stared at him in disbelief.

          "Murray–" Lauren said in dawning horror.

          "My dear boy–"

          "Yeah, _right!_ "

          "Your English seems to be deteriorating rapidly, Eric," Thomas observed, frowning at his colleague. "Murray is known for his veracity; I suggest we take him at his word."

          "Oh, Murray," Lauren said, stepping closer to him. "How horrible! What happened?"

          Murray shrugged. "I was hired away from the agency by a company who offered me a job I couldn't turn down, and whose agent was an old friend. When I arrived, I found there was no company and an old enemy from the military had arranged a deal with the Russians for my purchase."

          "Then how come you're here now?" Eric scoffed, sticking his chin out.

          Murray sighed. "Because Nick and Cody rescued me."

          "Yeah, you, their accountant. Bet they were glad to have you back."

          Something snapped in Murray's soul, and his tenuous hold on his temper, already frayed by their impending fate and the reliving of old memories, shattered as he turned on Eric. "What do you know about who I am and what I do?" he snarled. "I've been shot, beaten, kidnapped, drugged, almost drowned; I've held a gun and used it; I've helped to take down dangerous and deadly criminals, and I've got two of the best partners a man could ever have! I've helped a lot of people, and I wouldn't trade my job for anything you could name! Which is more than I can say for you, Eric Vicks!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Nick swung the car around the circular driveway and parked behind one of the sleek vehicles sitting in the three-car garage. Removing the key from the ignition, he let the engine die and they sat in silence for a long moment, taking in the vivid, thick lawn that stretched in all directions.

          Glancing at each other, the two detectives exited the 'Vette, Nick circling the car to join Cody as he started down a flagstone path that wound around several flowerbeds, their colors bright and vibrant in the May evening. The air was salty with the scent of the ocean, and behind them they could hear the faint curl of the breakers. Around a curve, the house came into sight, and their pace slowed as they took it in.

          "Wow," Cody breathed, awed by the multiple stories, balconies and chimneys. White with red trim, the house had a settled, assured look that spoke of money as clearly as did the lush yet carefully mowed lawn, or the empty, private beach behind them. "That's impressive."

          Nick said nothing, and Cody glanced at him, catching the set, uncomfortable look his friend wore.

          "Nick–"

          "I know, I know," the dark-haired detective said, his tone resigned. "It just bothers me, that's all."

          Cody smiled and clapped a hand to his friend's shoulder. "Hey, cheer up. Mrs. McKaren asked us to come see her after that briefing, so you know what they're probably going to ask us to do. And since they came to us, you can probably get by without wearing that suit you didn't put on."

          A small grin flickered across Nick's face and he nodded as they paced up the steps to the whitewashed front porch, glancing appreciatively at the swing that rocked gently in the breeze coming off the ocean.

          Cody reached out, pressing the doorbell, and the two men stood silently as the faint chime rang inside, repeating itself several times.

          The door opened, revealing a black man with grizzled hair and a calm expression. "Mr. Allen and Mr. Ryder?" At their nods he gestured them to enter, turning to lead the way. "If you will follow me."

          The detectives did so, both taking in the rooms and hallways with sharp glances.

          The butler led them to a room and stepped aside. "Your guests, madam," he said to someone inside the room. "Mr. Allen and Mr. Ryder, of the Riptide Detective Agency."

          Stepping into the doorway, Nick and Cody found themselves the object of a very keen scrutiny from the older black woman who sat on one sofa, a carved cane in one hand. Behind the sofa stood a young man of the same race who eyed them gravely, while in one of the chairs sat someone who was obviously his twin. A young black woman turned from the bookcases lining the room as they entered, offering them a smile, her gaze appreciative on both of them but settling on Nick.

          "So, Mr. Allen and Mr. Ryder," the older woman said, gesturing them to a second sofa facing her. "Welcome to my home. I am Mrs. McKaren. This is my granddaughter Alison, and my grandsons Keshon and Karon." She motioned to the butler. "Refreshments, please, Williard."

          Nick and Cody slid into the cushioned seat, their gazes on the old woman. "Thank you," Cody said, easily slipping into the small talk that he'd learned in his own family. "You certainly have a beautiful house and grounds, Mrs. McKaren."

          She nodded. "Compliments are always a good way to open a conversation, Mr. Allen. And appreciated."

          The blond reddened slightly, and Nick stepped in. "So, what exactly can we do for you, Mrs. McKaren?"

          "What my partner means," Cody said hastily, "is–"

          "What your partner means is exactly what he says, I imagine," Mrs. McKaren commented, waving the butler in as he paused at the entrance with a tray. "I appreciate bluntness, Mr. Ryder. I am that way myself. Fancy talk and empty nothings I find frustrating. No offense to you, Mr. Allen," she added, nodding to him. "I'm sure you are as capable of straight talk as is your friend."

          Cody took a settling breath, catching the faint blush on Nick's cheeks with amusement. "Yes, ma'am, I am," he said calmly, lifting a glass of wine from the tray the butler offered. "So what _can_ we do for you?"

          Her eyes twinkled, and she smiled. "Good." She cocked her head at Nick as he chose a sampling of crackers and cheeses from the second tray the butler carried, turning away the wine with a shake of his head. "Would you prefer a different vintage, Mr. Ryder?"

          "No, thank you," Nick said with studious politeness. "I don't mix drinking and driving."

          She nodded her approval, and then became very businesslike. "My niece is one of the kidnapped scientists. I would like to hire you to investigate the crime."

          The two swapped glances and then Cody spoke. "Mrs. McKaren, we'd be glad to help, but as you know, our partner's also one of the victims, so it hardly seems fair to charge you for what we would already be doing."

          The woman thumped her cane, the carpet muffling the sound but not silencing it. "Very good, gentlemen! You have just proven that your good reputation is well earned. Yes, I remember that Murray Bozinski is a partner in your agency. That is why I wish to hire you. You have a personal investment in this situation which will prevent it from being just another case to you, and that passion is what I want. I will pay twice your usual rates, plus all expenses. Spare nothing. I want my niece back, and I am sure you feel the same about your partner."

          Nick and Cody looked at each other, then nodded. "Done," the dark-haired man said.

          She nodded. "Good. Williard will show you out and give you your first check. As I said, I am willing to pay highly for this, so do not feel shy about spending over that amount; I will reimburse you if needed."

          Minutes later, back in the car, the two detectives looked at each other and grinned. "Whoa," Nick commented, shaking his head as he put the key in the ignition and turned it. "That's some woman!"

          "You got that right," Cody acceded, strapping on his seatbelt as Nick backed up, then swung around the drive toward the exit. "I can't imagine arguing with her."

          "Not and winning, anyway," Nick agreed as he stopped to check traffic before turning onto the suburban road. "But the money will help. How much did she give us, anyway?"

          "Uh," answered the blond as he tore open the envelope the butler had handed them as they'd left. Pulling out the slim piece of paper, he stared at it in silence.

          "Well?"

          Cody swallowed. "Two thousand."

          There was a stark moment of silence, then the pilot's quiet reply. "Wow."

          "Yeah." Cody took a breath. "You know something, Nick?"

          "Hmm?"

          "We need someone with computer skills to help us on this one. Think of all the things that Murray would be doing if he were here."

          Silence fell for a moment as the worry that was never far from either of their minds crested again.

          "Yeah," Nick confirmed, determinedly turning away from the dark images. "And I think I know who can help us, too."


	6. Chapter 6

          Murray finally gave up trying to sleep and slowly sat up, the blankets falling from his shoulders as he moved to press his back against the nearby wall, stifling a groan as stiff muscles protested. Maybe a hot shower would help, and he smiled as he stretched. At least they had that amenity, although he was sure it was an accident of architecture; Brad et al. would certainly not have tried to give them access to that service if it hadn't already come with a room with barred windows. He looked around, his gaze sweeping across the space.

          Early morning sunshine slanted in through the northwest-facing window, the late spring angle of the light allowing for the brief penetration, and Murray sighed softly, thinking of sunrise on the deck of the _Riptide_. He closed his eyes and swallowed, then took a deep breath, forcing the surge of homesickness aside. He couldn't afford to let himself get distracted. Not now. Not when their lives might depend on what he could come up with.

          He grimaced, thinking back to the kidnapping. Some of the restaurant patrons had probably seen the abduction, but Brad and his people had been masked, and the chances of their leaving any clues that could be used to identify them were slim. And the patrons were not trained observers, while the team were professionals.

          Nick and Cody would be looking for them, but without anything to go on, Murray knew success was slim. And everyone would assume a ransom motive. Selling the scientists to the highest bidder was not an option that would be entertained until everything else had been tried and abandoned, and by then it would be too late.

          Murray took a breath. But if he could somehow get a clue to his partners, then maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to give them a direction. But how to do that?

          He looked slowly around the room, scanning the walls and the furniture with care. Rising, he started to pace, ignoring his companions. Thomas and Eric were still sleeping, curled up on the rug, but Lauren sat on the couch, watching him quietly.

          Murray stepped over to the fireplace, examining it carefully, then knelt to peer up the chimney. He stared for a moment, measuring it, then backed out. Next he fingered the rug, bending to sniff it. He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the furniture, then rose and started toward the desk, the sunlight warm on his legs as he passed through its slant. He knelt again to study the impressions the desk's legs had left in the carpet, then stood and ran a finger across the fine-grained surface. He studied the dirt that came off, then crossed to the nearby table and did the same thing with a different finger. He nodded and turned back to the desk.

          Lauren's quiet whisper startled him. "Murray, what is it?"

          He glanced up at the woman now standing beside him. "The fireplace has recently been opened, the chimney swept," he explained in a low voice. "The rug is new, and so is the desk. It's only been here a short time. And the windows," he motioned to them, "are clean, maybe recently washed."

          "So?" Thomas' voice was also low, but Murray jumped slightly.

          The larger man sat up, looking at Murray quizzically, and the detective took a breath. "I think that the owners were renovating this basement into an office. And where there's an office, there might be a voice jack. It depends how far the renovation progressed before they," he nodded toward the upstairs, "arrived."

          He crossed to the desk, studying its position. The windowsill ran right above the desk's surface, and set in the corner as the piece of furniture was, the owner had a lot of wall space to access if desired. He checked over the wall around the desk, trying to ignore Eric's hard stare from his position on the floor. Murray's explosion the evening before had served to shock and silence the man, but the detective had an uneasy feeling that it hadn't made matters better between them. Although what he could have done to mend the growing gap eluded him. Thomas and Lauren had taken his loss of temper in stride, but Murray had seen the glint of respect and some awe in their eyes afterward, and it disturbed him. _I'm not like that_! he wanted to cry. _I'm just me, Murray Bozinsky, the same as I've always been!_

          But he was not the same, and he knew it.

          He found a power outlet on the right side of the desk, but nothing else. Murray pulled out the chair, then knelt and peered under the desk. Crawling under the structure, he grimaced at the inky darkness that met him, making the wall and any possible outlets invisible.

          Backing up, he worked his way outside again and looked up at the expectant faces. "Does anyone by chance have a flashlight?" he asked without much hope.

          Eric snorted, and even Thomas smiled a little. Lauren, however, turned back to her purse and started digging in it.

          "Can't see in the dark, huh?" Eric remarked, smiling. "Told you it wouldn't work."

          "In point of fact, Eric," Thomas responded, annoyance hard in his voice, "you said nothing of the kind. And at least–"

          "Here!" Lauren's announcement as she turned back to them and handed Murray a set of keys cut off the incipient argument. A small container of pepper spray and a penlight hung from the keyring. "Will this help?"

          Murray smiled and turned back to the desk, only to be interrupted by the sound of the bolt across their door being drawn. He dropped the keys under the desk and scrambled back. Thomas hastily pushed the chair in as Murray stood, and the group quickly moved apart. By the time Cara opened the door and stepped inside, Lauren sat on the couch, rummaging through her purse, Thomas had dropped into the chair at the table, Murray was perched on the fireplace hearth, and Eric sat on the floor, knees drawn up and his arms locked around them, the picture of sullen resentment.

          "Ready for breakfast?" Cara purred, her smile taking everyone in without prejudice. One and all, they shivered as they followed her through the doorway.

          "A week?" Todd's voice echoed from the kitchen as Cara herded the scientists toward the room.

          "That's what they said," Brad confirmed as the group walked in, Cara waving them all to seats at the table before joining her teammates in the center of the kitchen.

          "A week for what?" she purred, her eyes slitted.

          "For the sale," Brad answered briefly, looking at her.

          "Why?" Todd demanded, fists on hips as he leaned forward, staring at his leader in a fashion that suggested mutiny.

          Brad glanced at him, then hit him, a brief, rapid blow that sent Todd reeling backward, blood spurting from his nose.

          The scientists all froze at the sudden violence. Murray watched the group, holding his breath. Unstable didn't begin to describe these three.

          "Because _I_ said so," Brad said flatly as Todd caught himself against the glassed wall-size cabinet, several plates falling off the inside shelves with a nerve-shattering crash that made everyone else jump. "And I say so because the search for these guys–" He jerked his head at the scientists without looking away from Todd. "Has heated the water around here so much that our buyers don't want to risk a pickup just yet."

          A spurt of hope ran through Murray like a cord of light, and he swallowed back the smile that wanted to break out. Just a little time. That's all they needed.

          The smile died aborning as Eric, taking advantage of the argument and the team's seeming distraction, jerked to his feet and ran toward the swinging door opposite the one they'd entered by. The chair that crashed in his wake brought Todd around in one quick move, and he was through the door after Eric before the door swung back behind the fleeing man.

          Brad was immediately after him, while Cara sauntered calmly over to the table where the scientists sat frozen and helped herself to the bacon. Everyone else stared after the others, through which they could hear loud curses, a slamming door, and a sudden crash that made everyone except Cara jump.

          "No!" Brad bellowed from the other room. "They want him undamaged, Todd! He's worthless otherwise! Leave him alone!"

          The door swung inward so hard that it cracked against the cabinet behind it, and Todd shoved Eric through it, Brad following on his heels.

          Eric landed on his knees, yelping as he met the hard tile. He was silenced by a cuff that must have made his ears ring.

          Todd glanced around, his face white with rage. He took two large steps across the floor and caught Murray by the shirt, dragging him to his feet. "This one's a bonus, right?" he snarled back at Brad, who watched him expressionlessly. "So any damage to him is paid for!"

          Brad nodded, and Murray barely had time to realize what the gesture meant before Todd's fist met his chin. He felt empty air beneath him, and then pain exploded across his back and shoulders as he crashed into the wall. Blackness shattered into pieces of rainbow and he fell into the kaleidoscope, sucked into night in one quick breath.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Zelda?"

          The third time Cody said the name and received no response, he reached out and touched her on the shoulder, smiling reassuringly as the young woman jumped, looking up from the computer screen with a start.

          "Hey," he said easily, leaning back against the doorway to give her space. "You're Zelda, right?"

          She studied him intently, frown lines between her eyes, and Cody wondered if Tricor had put them there. "Yes," she said uncertainly. "Are you–? I'm busy right now."

          Cody nodded solidly. "I understand. I just wondered if I could talk to you over lunch." He looked at her warmly, trying to summon all the charm he could. "It's about Murray Bozinsky," he added, his smile dying.

          The name acted as a catalyst, and she sucked in a breath. "I heard he was kidnapped. I hoped– Who are you?"

          "Cody Allen," the detective said, shaking her hand. "I'm one of Murray's partners, and we wanted to ask you for your help."


	7. Chapter 7

          Gray shards of light, a jigsaw puzzle without a frame. Voices, filtering down a well. Pain, scattering across his horizon. Murray surfaced into consciousness with a wariness born of experience, and lay without moving, evaluating.

          His head hurt. Spikes of pain hammered through his forehead and out the back of his neck, and he tried to breathe carefully, lifting muscles as little as possible.

          Farther down, aches pounded at his spine, echoing up the neck and down to the pelvis. Tight muscles drew his shoulders upward, and he tried to relax against the tension.

          He took a cautious breath, then froze, the air caught in ribs whose throbbing was suddenly noticeable. Pain spurted upward, then sideways, crisscrossing his chest muscles. Murray tried not to breathe, and the pain slowly ebbed.

          The voices were suddenly clear, words echoing over his head.

          "I wish I'd taken some first aid… I don't even know if we should wake him up or let him sleep!" The voice was Lauren's, tight and a little high.

          "I am afraid that my knowledge is similarly limited. I would advise, however, that if he remains unconscious for another hour, that we attempt to revive him."

          "Or ask them for help." Eric's contribution was short, but the supportive words, curt though they were, almost made Murray open his eyes, a move he wasn't quite ready for yet.

          "I'd sooner ask the wicked witch of the west!" Lauren answered savagely. "They're just as likely to shoot him as help him. If you hadn't tried that little stunt, he wouldn't be hurting right now! This is _your_ fault, Eric."

          "Well, somebody had to–"

          "Enough!" Murray had never heard that particular tone in Thomas' voice, and he revised his opinion of the man upward. "Eric made a mistake, and Murray paid for it. Those are the facts. We have to learn from them. We are in this together, and it is high time we acted to support each other rather than stab each other in the back. Our only chance of escape is building on Murray's expertise, and to that end, Eric, crawl under that desk and find out if there is a voice jack behind it."

          Murray could gauge Eric's subdued state of mind by his silence, but the detective could hear his footfalls on the carpet as he moved away.

          The computer expert took a small breath, trying to find a way to inhale around the throb in his chest. It took very shallow, slow breathing, and he reminded himself to monitor it – hyperventilation and the possibility of passing out was something he couldn't afford to ignore.

          All right, time to join his fellow prisoners.

          He opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the light from the windows. He lay on the couch, a pillow braced under his head. Sunlight lay across the floor in striped patterns, and from their angle Murray deduced it was late morning. He blinked slowly, shifting his gaze to look around the room.

          Lauren was staring toward the stairway while Thomas watched Eric emerge from beneath the desk and climb to his feet, pushing the chair back under and turn toward them. It was the younger man who first realized Murray was awake.

          In that moment when their eyes met, Murray saw bewildered apology in Eric's eyes, and he tried to smile, nodding. The move was a mistake, and he took a sharp breath as pain spiked through his head. Muscles twisted and cramped across his chest at the unguarded inhalation, and he closed his eyes as yellow and black spots danced on his horizon, concentrating on relaxing muscles and breathing lightly.

          "Murray? Murray, please, answer me. Please!"

          It took a few minutes before the detective could spare the attention to listen to her voice, and when he did he recognized the near panic in it. He'd sounded that way, back when he'd just joined the agency and Nick had been injured in one of their first cases. That seemed like such a very long time ago. Now he understood and appreciated Lauren's feelings, but he wished that she'd calm down – her fervor made his head hurt more.

          He opened his eyes to see Eric grip Lauren's shoulder and shake it slightly. "Quiet," he said softly. "We don't want to draw their attention." His gaze met Murray's and the detective saw in them an understanding that he'd never expected.

          Eric released Lauren, who sagged against the wall, taking deep breaths. Leaning forward, the younger man held up a hand. "How many fingers?"

          "Two," Murray answered softly, the surprise in his eyes prompting a faint smile from Eric, who nodded.

          "Good." He shifted, glancing from Thomas to Lauren, both of whom were watching the two with muted surprise. "How's your vision?"

          "Not blurred," Murray said with certainty. "No concussion… I think."

        "Bet your head hurts, though."

          Murray didn't nod, but Eric caught the assent in his eyes. "Anything else?"

          "My ribs," Murray replied, studying the man thoughtfully. He wore a new demeanor – almost as if, the computer expert thought, he had finally accepted something he'd been steadily denying.

          "Broken?"

          Murray started to shake his head, quickly halted the move. "No, I don't think so. Maybe fractured, but I think they're just bruised."

          "Good," Eric said again, then flushed as he saw the increasing surprise and questions in Thomas and Laurens' expressions. Turning away, he moved quickly to sit at the desk, his back to them, and such was his stiff silence that none of them dared break it. In the wordless quiet, Murray closed his eyes again, his consciousness sliding into the darkness that waited past the edges of daylight.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Zelda stared at the pattern of information blinking on her screen and sighed. How could she explain this to his partners? She looked around the small room, her gaze sweeping across the several computers, the bookshelves crammed with highly technical journals and books, the Roboz parked in a corner, determinedly ignoring any commands given it. She could feel the dip and sway of the boat, and smell the sea, and upstairs she could hear the low buzz of worried conversation. This was Murray's world, and although she could follow some of his computer skills and do a few of the searches he would have done, she didn't fit here in the slightest, and she felt that alienation in her bones. Murray had built a place here that even he might be surprised at, and she was forced to be the one who informed his partners that he just might not ever return to it.


	8. Chapter 8

          Darkness coalesced to a point, then expanded to gray walls, dark corners, twilit windows… and Murray blinked awake, focusing past the headache to find Lauren sitting quietly beside him.

          "Hello!" she said, her smile blossoming.

          Murray tried not to wince as her bright tone sliced through his head. "Hi," he answered softly.

          "Want some supper?" she asked, her voice dropping but her eyes bright.

          Murray frowned at her, hazy memories of a fierce discussion with Brad rippling through him. Her voice, and Thomas', figured prominently in the memories, and although he couldn't remember any words, he had the sense that it had concerned food. Or more specifically, a meal, and his absence from it.

          But right now the idea of food turned his stomach at the same time as hunger rumbled through him. "Well, actually–"

          "Please, Murray?" she said, wrinkle lines deepening across her forehead. "You need to keep up your strength."

          Murray grimaced. She was probably right, but he didn't know if he wanted to try to force food past his aching ribs. He opened his mouth to say so, and found his gaze caught by Eric's intent look from behind her. The empathy in the look was so much like what he would've seen in his partners' eyes that he was caught off balance, nodding automatically and then gritting his teeth against the spurt of pain the move elicited.

          "Great!" Lauren said, turning to uncover a plate that sat on the nearby table, not seeing Murray's wince at the increased volume of her words.

          The detective took advantage of her momentary distraction to glance around. Eric sat on one of the chairs several feet behind Lauren, his gaze steady on Murray, while Thomas was making notes in a small notebook that he'd taken from his jacket pocket. Gauging the man's glances at his watch and at Murray, the computer expert inferred tiredly that the notes had to do with him.

          He focused back on Lauren as she moved the plate of roast beef in front of him, swallowing as his stomach balked. He started to lever himself up and was surprised at Eric's quick move forward to help. The room spun for a long moment as he reached an upright position, and his headache came out of hibernation with a throbbing beat that blurred his vision. He was very glad of Eric's silent support as he swayed back into the couch, sagging against the helpful hands. _And Nick and Cody always made it look so easy…_

          Slowly the world came back into focus, and he took a cautious breath, finding himself the object of three very worried pairs of eyes. "I think that your first diagnosis was a little off the mark," Eric commented, not loosing his grip on Murray's shoulders until he felt the detective relax.

          Murray glanced up at him, trying to smile. "Perhaps a mild concussion after all."

          "Just maybe," Eric agreed wryly. He glanced at Lauren, who was hovering behind him, then stepped backward. "I think he's ready for that meal," he finished.

          Lauren swallowed, then firmed her lips and sat down beside Murray, holding out a forkful of food.

          He blushed, reaching for the silverware. "Really," he said, ignoring the twinge across his ribcage at the movement, "I can–"

          "No, you can't," Lauren said evenly. "Now eat." She held the fork to his lips, and he sighed, unable to restrain the grimace as pain twanged across his chest.

          Fifteen minutes later he turned away, unable to force down another mouthful, but feeling better for the food.

          "Oh," said Lauren, smiling as she reached into her pocket. "I– _We_ ," she corrected herself, glancing at the other two, "managed to convince them to give you some aspirin, so here." She handed Murray two small white pills, which he eyed dubiously and made no effort to take.

          She frowned. "Murray, come on, please?" A faint tinge of impatience edged her voice, and the detective glanced up at her, remembering when he had been as innocent. But to take drugs from kidnappers without being absolutely sure what they were? No, he knew what his partners would say to that.

          Eric lifted the pills from Lauren's hand before she realized he stood behind her. Ignoring her surprised look, he touched one of them to his tongue, then the other, then handed them to Murray with a nod. "They're aspirin."

          Murray looked at him gratefully, and carefully swallowed the pills with what was left of his water from supper.

          "What–?" Lauren started, then paled slightly. "You mean it could've been… something else?" She swallowed hard, and shook her head. "But why?" She cut herself off. "I never thought…"

          Thomas stood, moving beside her and touching her on the shoulder. "I did not consider that possibility, either, Lauren. We are both unsophisticated in these matters. Fortunately for us, Murray is not." He didn't look at Eric, but his unspoken inclusion of the man with the detective was clear.

          "Is there a voice jack behind the desk?" Murray asked, blocking the incipient conversation.

          Thomas hesitated, obviously not glancing at Eric, then shrugged. "Yes, there is. Of what significance is its presence, though? Without a phone or modem…" He trailed off, his gaze steady on Murray.

          Murray took a careful breath. "If I can alter the robo-mech piloting device I had with me when we were kidnapped, I can find out if the jack is active. Then we can worry about finding some way to use it."

          "The robo-mech what?" Lauren asked, her voice blank.

          "What is it?" Eric asked, taking a step closer to the detective.

          Murray opened his mouth to pour out his theory on artificial intelligence and how the Roboz could be activated by the robo-mech, and the potential this tool held for the field, and ran straight into his physical limitations with his first unwary breath. Pain stabbed upward through his chest, twisting sideways to run like fire along the ribs, and he closed his teeth on the words, riding out the spasm in silence, trying to relax the overstressed muscles.

          "Easy," Eric said softly, his hand gentle on the computer expert's shoulder.

          "In the desk," Murray answered when he could. "Top drawer."

          Thomas stepped over to the desk and after a moment of rummaging, held up the small gadget he found, looking at Murray with raised eyebrows.

          "Yes," the detective said. "I hid it there the first night, just in case." He held out a hand for the instrument, and Thomas stepped forward and laid it in his palm. Murray closed his fingers around it, and then looked up at the three. "It'll take me a little while to modify it."

          "Perhaps you should defer that task until tomorrow," Thomas suggested, frowning at the detective.

          Murray halted his headshake before he started it. "Actually, Thomas, we don't have that kind of time. It has to be done now."

          "Then let one of us do it," Lauren urged. "Murray, you're in no condition–"

          "Leave him alone." Eric's words were firm, and the other two glanced at him in surprise. "Admit it, none of us knows how to modify that gadget, and he does. We don't have the kind of time to argue about it; if we don't do something soon, we're out of this country and we'll never find our way home. Let him work."

          Murray watched the other two frown and shuffle, but they went away and left him alone, and he bent over his task, trying hard to ignore the occasional blurred vision and the throbbing headache.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "What do you mean, they're gone?" Cody stared at Zelda, his brows crooked in confusion. The whine of a faraway speedboat underlined his words, and behind him one of the pier lights blinked on as the sun sank into a wave-strewn horizon.

          Zelda took a breath and swallowed, turning away from the wide-sky sunset and meeting the worried blue eyes facing her. "I found that there were ten other scientists who have vanished just like these did, but they didn't come back. No ransom demands were made," she added at the detectives' blank expressions. "They're just gone."

          "Gone?" Nick repeated, his frown shifting to a questioning realization as he continued. "You mean they were sold, don't you."

          It was not a question, and as she watched Cody blanch at the words, Zelda realized that the concept meant more to them than to her. "Sold?" she questioned. "I mean they're gone, but–"

          "Sold," Cody said with finality. "To the highest bidder. Just like Murray that time."

          "What?" Zelda whispered, horror bubbling up in her. "No, no, I didn't mean–"

          "That's what's happening." Nick rode over her words, not even noticing as he turned to Cody. "That's why there hasn't been a ransom demand; there's not going to be. The kidnappers are selling them."

          "Then we have to find them before they do." Cody's words were solid, but she saw the fear in his eyes.

          "How do we do that?" she asked, dry-mouthed.

          There was a brief silence, then Nick answered. "I don't know. But we've got to find a way."


	9. Chapter 9

          Murray lay on the couch, staring through the darkness. It was late, several hours after Todd had shut off the lights, but he couldn't sleep. He kept dozing off, and then waking up as memories from his prior kidnapping by Colonel Litvak would run through his dreams. He finally decided it was better to stay awake than deal with those kinds of nightmares, and so he lay sleepless, trying to at least relax against the fierce ache that ran through him. He wished they'd been able to get more than two aspirin from Brad; the pills he'd taken had worn off long since, although he'd said nothing to the others.

          At least the alterations to the robo-mech were almost finished; one more modification tomorrow and the gadget-cum-voltmeter would be ready to test. He wished he was within range to contact the Roboz, but that was not the case. And he had his doubts about the phone jack being active; if this room was truly a working office, then the desk would've had some accoutrements on top of it or in the drawers – desk trays, organizers, pencil/pen holders, paper clips in the drawers, etc., and there was nothing. Just the disorganized pile of papers on the desk's surface. Given those facts, Murray rather thought the office was being readied for use, and if so, then it would make sense to only activate the phone line when the owners arrived home. The scientists had seen no one except their captors; maybe the owners were on vacation. If they were even still alive.

          He took a careful breath and shifted slightly, wishing he could turn over. Even without any pain or nightmares to keep him awake, he had never been good at sleeping on his back, and now his injuries made turning over next to impossible. He'd tried once, and the ensuing agony had immediately awakened him out of the half-doze he'd fallen into, forcing him to lie ultra-still and breathe lightly for the next half-hour. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

          The really frustrating thing was the growing pressure in his bladder, and he knew that he couldn't make it to the bathroom alone. It wasn't really that far from the couch to the toilet, though; maybe he could crawl…  All he knew was that he didn't want to deal with the almost claustrophobic concern of the others if he woke any of them. Funny. If Nick or Cody were hurt, they dealt with the pain stoically, but they seemed to thrive on the attention they got, at least at home. They were both pretty bad hospital patients, except when there was a pretty nurse, anyway, and even then their good humor only lasted for a while.

          But then, when Murray considered what it would be like to have this kind of injury at home on the _Riptide_ , he knew that he wouldn't mind his partners' concern or care; it was just Lauren's or Thomas' that he couldn't handle well. Eric was different, though, almost like his partners, although he didn't know why.

          He shifted position again, then slowly lifted his head, setting his teeth against the punch of pain. It waned after a few throbbing beats, though, and he hoped that meant that his head was healing.

          He slid his elbows back until he was resting on them, enduring the dull throb that echoed through his ribs at the move. Lifting his head a little higher, he attempted to lever himself up, halting as pain forked through his chest, forcing a stifled whimper from him.

          "Want some help?" Eric's whisper was low, and Murray tried to control his gasp of relief as the young man's figure loomed beside the couch.

          "Ye-Yes," he answered, trying to blink back the tears of pain that stood in his eyes. He was glad it was dark.

          Eric's hand slipped behind him, taking the weight off his elbows, and Murray jerked in a breath at the sudden drop in pain. "Thanks," he wheezed as his friend aided him to sit up, leaning against the back of the couch for a long moment.

          "Bathroom?" Eric questioned, his hand still resting on Murray's shoulder.

          Murray caught himself before he nodded. "Yes," he answered, hearing the flatness of his own voice. Damn, but he was tired. "Please."

          "No problem," Eric whispered, and Murray felt a surge of gratitude sweep through him. If anyone had told him even two days ago that he'd be so glad that Eric was there with him, he would've wondered about their sanity, but now…

          Fifteen minutes later he was back on the couch, although he resisted Eric's efforts to help him lay back down. If he couldn't sleep, he'd just as soon sit up. Besides, that position was somehow less painful on his ribs, at least right now.

          "Like some company?" Eric's whisper was low, and Murray's affirmative answer matched its volume. The other man slid carefully onto the couch, and they sat silently for a long moment.

          "You think that gadget will work tomorrow?"

          Murray considered the question. There was honest curiosity in it, and he found himself answering it with more directness than he suspected he would if it were Thomas or Lauren asking it. "Yes," he said softly, hearing the regular breathing of the other two that proclaimed their continued sleep. "But I'm not sure that it will help us."

          The silence that answered him was receptive, and he took a small breath and explained his reasoning. When he finished he could see Eric nodding. "Makes sense," he commented. "Maybe by then we'll have come up with some alternatives."

          "Yes, I hope so," Murray answered, trying not to let his own fear creep out.

          The darkness was quiet between them, until Eric cleared his throat and straightened. "I guess I owe you an explanation for my behavior when we started all this, huh?"

          Murray shifted to look at him. "No," he said in some surprise, keeping his whisper low. "I don't need any, Eric."

          He could hear the smile in the other man's soft tone when he answered. "No, I guess you wouldn't. You know, that was always the thing I liked about you in college. I never had to explain things to you; you just accepted me as I was and didn't look any further."

          Murray glanced away, feeling heat climb his cheeks, then opened his mouth.

          "But I do owe you an explanation." Eric shifted slightly on the couch, looking at the computer expert. "You remember, in college, where I said I was from?"

          The wording caught the detective's attention, and he nodded without thinking, then held his breath as he waited for the stab of pain. There was only a dull throb and he relaxed.

          "Well, what I said was true… sort of." The man paused a moment, then went on, "See, I grew up in the inner city neighborhoods of LA. I ran with the gangs, learned how to fight, how to shoot, how to survive. Then, when I was fourteen, my mom got a new job and we moved to the Valley. I left the gangs behind and got new friends, did well in school, got to college on a scholarship, and, well, the rest you know."

          Murray shifted to look at him, wonder bubbling through him. "Wow," he breathed. "That's really boss. Boss and bodacious. That you could do all that, I mean, it's–" He ran out of breath, and as he jerked in an unwary gulp of air his chest spasmed and he stopped short, pain twisting across ribs and down his spine. He closed his eyes and rode it out, opening his eyes to find Eric's hand on his shoulder again.

          "You okay?"

          "Yeah," Murray husked. He swallowed, then said, "I don't understand. What does your history have to do with this?"

          He sensed rather than saw Eric's smile. "I was jealous of you," he said simply. "I guess Lauren had that right. And I'd never told anyone about me; everyone just assumed that I was like them, and I kind of let it stand, even though I really felt I didn't fit in in the Valley. Guess I felt that way in college and at work, too, really. I just buried that part of my past. But here…" He trailed off, and Murray cleared his throat.

          "We needed you," he finished for the man, "and you had to use that part of yourself."

          "Yeah. Guess it was time to face it, huh?"

          Murray thought of Nick, and Cody, and their honesty with themselves and each other, and with him. He thought of all he'd learned and become with them, and of who he'd been before, and nodded. "Yeah," he answered.

          Darkness spread between them, and Murray looked out the window, wondering if there was a hint of light at the horizon. He glanced back at Eric. "When I joined the agency, I felt so out of place," he said softly, memories spreading wide before him.

          "But you were one of the smartest in our class in college."

          Murray shook his head, too caught up in the past to blush. "Not that kind of intelligence. I didn't– I had never chased down a suspect, or fired a gun, or been shot at… or kidnapped… or drugged or injured. And I didn't– Nick and Cody are both veterans, and Nick grew up a lot like you did. They're both really great at figuring out situations, and people. I just knew computers."

          "Maybe when you started," Eric answered softly. "But you must've gotten better at things like that." They both glanced around as one of the others turned over, waiting until their breathing slowed again.

          Murray shrugged one shoulder. "I guess I had to."

          "Yeah," Eric said softly. "I guess you did."

          Then there was only silence between them as they watched the dawn sky lighten, although Murray was asleep before the sun rose, leaning into the corner of the couch.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Cody sipped his coffee, lethargy dragging through him as he felt the hot liquid slip down his throat. Across the table, Nick blinked down into his own cup, his eyes half-shut against the early morning sunlight. Dark circles lay under his eyes, and his shoulders sagged as he lifted the coffee to his lips. Cody had a feeling that he didn't look much better.

          "How long do you think we've got?"

          Nick's voice startled the blond, and he started, quickly setting his cup down as the liquid within swished close to the rim. He blinked at his friend, the words swirling through his brain for a moment before their sense penetrated.

          "How long?" he repeated.

          "Yeah," Nick said, stopping to take a deep swallow of the beverage. "You know, how long before they've sold Murray and the others?"

          Cody took a long breath, his own fear flaring at the dark-haired man's flat tone. "I don't know," he replied at last. "Not long."

          "It's going on four days now," Nick said after a moment when the seagulls' cries could be clearly heard through the open windows. "We still don't have a clue where they're being held, or who has them, or who's buying them. They can't keep them too long."

          "No," Cody answered bleakly, "they can't." He lifted his cup, took a warm swallow, and set it down again. "They're obviously professionals; maybe they've done this before."

          "Yeah," the brunet agreed, frowning. "That just makes things worse, though."

          "It also makes them predictable," the blond corrected. "Maybe we can find who hired them before."

          "Huh," Nick said, halting with his fork in mid-air as he thought about it. "Yeah, maybe so, and trace them that way."


	10. Chapter 10

          "Inactive?" Lauren said blankly, staring at the device in Murray's hand. The lights on it steadfastly refused to blink, and the detective and Eric exchanged resigned glances. "What do you mean, it's inactive?" Her voice started to rise, and Eric held a finger against his lips, to no avail. "It can't be inactive, it has to work! It has to, or we're–"

          "Shhh!" Eric and Thomas hissed, and the sharp sound penetrated Lauren's panic enough that she halted almost mid-word, staring at the men with eyes that were wide and white-ringed.

          "They haven't activated the jack yet," Murray said, holding her gaze. "That was always a possibility. We just have to find another way out."

          "Yes." Thomas' voice was strained, and he took a deliberate breath before continuing. "Murray has the right of it, my dear. We will seek another escape. Does anyone have any ideas?"

          Murray tried not to frown as he noticed the slip in Thomas' vocabulary, and saw Eric's quick glance at him as well. Like the detective, however, the ex-gang member ignored it.

          "Perhaps the fireplace?" Lauren's voice was hesitant, and Murray sighed.

          "I'm afraid not," he said, trying not to sound regretful. "When I examined it earlier I also measured it. It's too narrow to climb, and since it appears that the owners aren't ready yet to open this room as an office, the flue might be closed as well. I didn't feel a breeze."

          "Too bad the windows are barred," Eric commented, glancing out at the summer afternoon blazoned across the hills. "We could just break them and be gone. Not that they would've put us in here if it was that easy."

          "Too true," Lauren agreed. "Although there's something about those windows…" She studied them for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know. But there's something familiar about them."

          "What would–?"

          Thomas' question was interrupted by the bolt sliding off the door, and everyone stepped rapidly away from the desk as Todd entered the room, dumping the bags holding their fast food lunches onto the rug and leaving after only a cursory glance at all of them.

          Murray watched the door slam, and leaned back in the desk chair, his ribs aching with the careful move. Weariness surged through him, and he closed his eyes against the bright sunshine.

          "Murray?"

          He forced his eyes open at Thomas' question, realizing that he must've fallen asleep. The sun's rays fell at the same angle, though, and he decided it had only been for a few minutes.

          "Murray, why don't you move over to the couch?" Lauren's voice was gentle, but her hands were firm on his shoulders, and before the computer expert realized it he was sitting on the couch, sagging sideways into the corner.

          She helped him lie down, covering him with a blanket. "Just rest. You need it."

          He couldn't find it in himself to argue, and closed his eyes.

          "Murray?"

          He forced his eyes open again, staring upward at Thomas, who wore an uncertain expression that the detective couldn't ever remember seeing before. Behind him Murray could see Eric and Lauren exchanging annoyed glances.

          "Murray," the man said, rubbing his hands down his pants and squatting beside the couch, "your partners, they'll be looking for us, right?"

          "Oh, sure," he answered, trying to sound reassuring. "All the time! Nick and Cody would never give up. They'll find us, absolutely." He had no doubt whatsoever that his partners would eventually track down this house and know that he and the others had been there. But whether that would be in time was another question completely, and of that he wasn't so sure.

          "Good, good," rumbled Thomas, moving to stand. "Good to hear."

          Murray watched the larger man turn away, and behind him caught Eric's knowledgeable gaze. The awareness in that shared glance went with him into sleep, providing a sense of security that allowed him to relax into a deeper slumber than he expected to achieve.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "So, what we were thinking is that maybe you can find the companies who made money off the things that those kidnapped scientists did." Nick looked hopefully at the computer expert.

          Zelda frowned, then nodded, trying not to let her surprise show. She had automatically thought that she would be making most of the suggestions in this search, and the rapid overhaul she was being forced to make of her assumptions made her feel somewhat ashamed of herself as a result.

          "That's a really good idea," she said, hurrying the words to cover the small silence preceding them. "The only thing is that they – the scientists, I mean – won't be allowed to publish anything they do. So we'll have to go at this through the back door, tracing the companies who've made claims that they'll have a certain product ready in a specified time, especially if experts in the field say it can't be done that soon with the resources that that company has on hand." She finished the sentence in one breath and smiled at them.

          Nick was nodding, and Cody looked thoughtful. Her respect for them went up another notch, and she swung around, reaching for the computer keys with eager fingers. "We're going to find him," she muttered, already intent on her task. "We are."

          She didn't see the hopeful but sober glances exchanged behind her as the two detectives left, their footfalls soft on the carpeted floor.


	11. Chapter 11

          Todd dumped the bags that held their suppers onto the rug and glanced around at them, grinning. "Well, eat up and enjoy it, 'cause tomorrow evening we're outta here!"

          "Tomorrow?" Thomas protested, taking a step forward from where he stood beside the desk. "But that is–"

          "When you're delivered," Cara's silky comment cut him off, and the scientist fell silent as she gracefully swirled down the steps to join Todd. She bore a tray of drinks and smiled at them as she stepped over and placed it on the long table, ignoring Eric's hatred-filled stare as he stood a few feet away. Turning, she headed toward the door. "Now, Todd, do come on; supper is waiting."

          With a last triumphant look at them, Todd followed her, slamming the door behind himself.

          Murray tried not to wince at the sound, his gaze on the others.

          Lauren knelt to gather up all the bags, her hands shaking so badly that she dropped a few before she had them all. Standing, she moved to the desk, placing them all on it and starting to extract the food, which she sorted into four piles. She chose one stack and moved toward Murray, and he swallowed as he took in the tears running soundlessly down her cheeks.

          Thomas stood staring at the door for a long moment, his mouth moving silently, then turned toward the windows, stepping blindly into the space between the desk and the table. In doing so, he bumped into Eric, who hadn't moved since Cara had passed him.

          "Do you mind?" the older man snapped.

          Eric twisted in a move that made Murray's eyes widen in recognition, but before he could say anything the ex-gang member had Thomas in a headlock.

          "Eric!" His cry and Lauren's were simultaneous, but it was to Murray that the man looked, and as their eyes met, he blinked, then flushed, freeing Thomas so abruptly that the older man staggered, almost going to his knees.

          Eric whirled, setting his back to them and staring out the windows across the sunset-shaded hills, then, before any of them could recover, he turned and strode across the room to Murray.

          "What am I going to do?" he demanded. "If they take me, what will I become? How will I hold out against becoming like them?"

          Murray took a breath, remembering just in time not to inhale too deeply. For this moment in time, the two of them were alone, and he had a sudden, stark memory of Nick dropping down to sit beside him on the grass in Cyprus Bay. How had he known what to say, what not to? He remembered his friend's words then as if they were yesterday, and he knew he always would. He could do worse than to follow his example, and swallowing, looked into his own soul and experiences, examined his own past.

          "Well, Eric, I've found that you choose the kind of person you want to be, and you made a choice a long time ago not to be like them. A lot of things can happen to someone, and sometimes you can do things you don't like. But you can grow, and learn, and be something different. That's what you did. You aren't like them."

          Eric's gaze held his for a long, endless moment, and then he took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing. "Thanks," he said, unsmiling. Turning away, he strode over to the table, chose one of the piles of food, and moved to seat himself at the desk, his back to them. The other two looked from him to Murray, and then silently chose their own food and settled down to eat. No one said a word the rest of the evening.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "I've got something."

          Nick and Cody clattered down the stairs after Zelda, following her to Murray's room and hovering behind her as she seated herself at the computer.

          "What is it?" Cody asked impatiently as she tapped a few keys, bringing up information.

          "Well," she said, frowning, "I went looking for companies that would've profited from any discoveries made by the missing scientists."

          "Yeah, yeah. So?" Nick replied when she stopped to look up at them. "What'd you find already?"

          She took a breath. "I found five people. First I looked for organizations that would've profited. I found two."

          "Only two?" Nick asked doubtfully. "But there must be scores of companies that would profit from what those missing scientists would have done."

          She smiled up at him admiringly. "Yes," she answered, "but _these_ two actually did. Or at least," she added as they stared at her with sudden hope, "they came out with some advances in the same fields as those missing scientists were in. And without mentioning where they came from, or that they were working on anything like it. There were a number of experts in the field that were surprised."

          "That's a good sign," Cody breathed, chewing his lip.

          She nodded. "There's more. The two companies shared five people on their advisory boards. I traced them and found three other companies that also profited from the unexplained discoveries. And," she plowed forward as Cody tried to interrupt, "one of them would profit from the kind of research Murray and the other scientists could do."

          There was a brief moment of silence as the two of them digested the information, then Nick smiled grimly. "How about some addresses of those people?"

          She reached over and plucked a sheet of paper from the printer. "Here."

          The two almost snatched it out of her hand, poring over it almost feverishly.

          "All right!" Cody grinned as he turned toward the stairs. "We're off! Great work, Zelda!"

          "Yeah," Nick agreed, touching her lightly on the shoulder. "I think Murray would say you did a boss and bodacious job. We'll take care of it from here. You'll get your check when we get back, okay?"

          "I'm not doing this for money!"

          "We know that," Cody said hurriedly, pausing to smile at her. "But we've taken you away from your own job, and you deserve some recompense for that." He started up the stairs.

          "How will you get them to tell you about Murray?" she asked, blinking up at them.

          "Leave that to us," the blond said, his smile gone, and their footsteps raced up the stairs and off the boat, faint echoes stampeding back from the quay.


	12. Chapter 12

          "I've got it!"

          Murray started awake, the soft exclamation echoing through the early morning darkness with all the force of a bomb, and he winced as the sudden movement jarred his headache into a vicious throbbing. The hot shower he'd taken before bedtime had helped to relax the muscles enough that he'd actually managed to get to sleep, but that was a foregone reality now.

          "What?" he muttered, trying to sit up, an action that forced a dull agony to curl through his ribs. He halted with an aborted gasp.

          "Here," Eric said, bending over to help him sit up. His own voice was fuzzy with interrupted sleep, and the detective sighed as his friend braced him against the cushions. Together they turned to look toward the others, finding Lauren fumbling at the wall around the windows and Thomas standing near her. From his stance, Murray deduced that the man wasn't that happy to be awake, a sentiment he could understand.

          "What is it?" Thomas growled.

          "Those windows. The bars," Lauren answered, running her hands over the wall, the words distracted. "I knew they looked familiar; now I remember why! They're detachable!"

          Abruptly, Murray wasn't sleepy anymore. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to swing his legs off the couch.

          "You mean as in a safety precaution," Eric answered, a thread of excitement running through his even words.

          "Yes!" Lauren knelt, her fingers flying over the wall. "There should be a lever that we can pull, and one of these windows should have detachable bars. A friend of mine had these installed a few years ago, and the company has to leave another way out of a room in case of fire!" She stubbed her fingers on a ridge in the wall and jerked them away, cradling one hand with the other. "Ow-ow-ow!"

          "Enough!" Thomas bent to place his hands on her shoulders. "Come back to bed; there is no use examining the wall until there is more light to do so by, and in the meantime we will preserve our energy and plan."

          Lauren slowly released her fingers, rubbing them lightly with the other hand, then glanced back at the wall. Murray couldn't see her expression in the dark, but the fevered excitement in her voice echoed the hope rising in his own soul, and he swallowed.

          "Come on, Lauren," Eric urged, stepping over to her. "Thomas is right; we can't just do this blindly, we've got to plan."

          The detective heard her sigh, and when she spoke the control in her voice was obvious. "You're right, both of you." She allowed Thomas to help her to her feet, and moved back to the rug with him. Sitting up, she leaned against the side of the couch, bracing her pillow behind her and pulling her blankets up around her shoulders. "All right. So what do we do with this, if the lever is really over there?" She nodded toward the wall, then shifted to face all of them.

          "I've heard of these bars," Murray commented when no one immediately answered her query. "I don't think they detach quietly, so that may be a problem."

          "A distraction," Thomas suggested, his voice more buoyant than Murray had heard it in a while. "We must provide a distraction so that they won't notice our activity."

          "Maybe if one of us seems to get upset and yells and throws things around?" Lauren offered.

          "You mean have a temper tantrum," Eric said wryly.

          "Well, yes, I guess so," she said, and Murray could hear the smile in her voice. "Are you volunteering?"

          "I think I'd better," he replied, cutting off Thomas' interruption. "I mean, Murray's injured, so he's out. Lauren's a no, so that leaves me and Thomas. And frankly, I'm the one they'll expect to do something like this, not him."

          "And why am I automatically out of the running?" Lauren said, her words soft but indignant.

          Thomas patted her hand. "Because, my dear, we men simply cannot stand by and watch you be hurt in such an attempt. The person who engages in this task will undoubtedly receive injury at the hands of the kidnappers, and I believe I speak for all of us when I say that we do not wish it to be you."

          "I don't want any of you to be hurt, either," she whispered, annoyance clear in her tone. "But I think this should be a fair choice among the three of us, not some macho protectionism."

          Murray cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Lauren, for disagreeing, but in this case it would make more sense for one of them to do it rather than either you or me." He hurried on when he found he had the floor. "These people are very unstable, and their control of themselves uncertain. When it comes down to physical strength, Todd – and it will be Todd who does this – might forget to pull his blow when it comes to you, and he could possibly break your neck without even realizing it."

          There was silence when he finished, until Lauren cleared her throat. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "I guess you're right about that."

          "Yes, he is," Eric agreed. "I hate to say it, but the same reasoning would apply to him if he weren't injured. But okay. So who gets to pull the lever while I'm throwing a temper tantrum?"

          "Murray," Thomas said with surety. "With his injuries, he should stay safely out of the way of any accidental blow. Lauren and I will be attempting to restrain you, raising our voices to create yet more noise. If Murray should pull the lever before the kidnappers enter the room, after you've started your 'distraction,' it might well appear that the noise of the window bars detaching is simply something you threw."

          "Yes," Lauren said, nodding. "That way, we don't risk doing it when they're in the room. And Eric's scene should keep their eyes away from the window anyway."

          "And with you standing next to me, they're sure not likely to look over at Murray," Eric added. Murray could see his grin in the darkness as Lauren bowed her head. The detective was sure that he would've seen her blushing if there'd been light enough, although how that emotion would show on an African-American woman he wasn't sure.

          "And when do we do this?" she asked quickly, not looking at any of them.

          "After breakfast?" Murray offered.

          "That sounds good," Eric said thoughtfully. "That way, we all get a good meal down us before anything happens. And we'll all need all the energy we can get."

          "Okay," Lauren agreed. "But eating that breakfast is another matter."

          "If you don't, they'll know something is wrong," Murray pointed out. "We've got to act as if nothing is wrong or abnormal."

          "Right," Thomas rumbled. "Extremely right. So we'll eat breakfast, give ourselves half an hour to digest the food, then stage our distraction. Murray will pull the lever before the kidnappers enter, and–"

          "And we will see what we will see," Eric finished as Thomas' words ran out of wind.

          "If, that is, that lever is really here," Lauren said softly.

          There was nothing to say to that, and they all sat silently, watching the stars fade at the horizon's edge.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Well?" Joanne asked as Nick joined her in the dark office. She didn't move away from the window opening into the small room where their victim sat tied hand and foot in a straight chair. It was clear from his expression that he was terrified, and the detective smiled.

          "He thinks he's dead," he replied to the officer's query. "As far as he knows, he's stuck in a deserted office with two guys who are crazy and no police in sight."

          Joanne nodded, smiling and stepping a little away from the window. "That would scare me," she agreed. "Get anything out of him yet?"

          Nick shrugged, both of them watching as Cody leaned over the man, snarling into his face with an intensity that even came through the glass of the window.

          "I don't think he knows much," he answered honestly, pausing as Cody stormed out of the "interrogation room," slamming the door behind him. A few minutes later he joined them, slipping into the room and moving forward to stare out at the man, all signs of his assumed anger gone.

          "Seems like the president of Tricor is the key to the kidnappers," he said, glancing sideways at them.

          "Tricor?" Joanne questioned, surprise clear in her tone.

          "Yep," Nick responded, smiling grimly. "Good old Tricor. Seems the president of the company is the only one who knows how to reach the kidnappers."

          "Not only that," Cody added, "but this isn't the first time hiring these guys. Seems they've demanded a pay raise with every job and they didn't get one this time. According to this guy, they've been complaining about that."

          "Which means," Nick continued, "that we can pose as them and go meet this president. Lean on him to get the number, trace it, and we'll have the kidnappers' location."

          "This man won't know you from before?" Joanne asked, studying them carefully.

          "No," the blond said, shaking his head. "New hire since then." He cracked a smile. "And somehow, I don't think they've clipped articles about us to put in their scrapbooks."

          Nick grinned, and even Joanne smiled, remembering hearing how Cody had been assigned to cut out articles for the company scrapbook.

          "You're probably right," she agreed. "But you're going in with a wire and with backup on call. We're not taking any chances. Not with the scientists' lives on the line."

          "No problem," Cody said, and his partner nodded.

          "Then let's go talk to Tricor," she said, turning to lead the way out of the room.

          "What about him?" Nick asked as they passed by the door leading to the "interrogation room."

          "I'll call in some officers to come take him to the station," the lieutenant smiled, lifting her radio as they neared the parking lot. "There's a nice cell there with his name on it."

          "Amen," Cody said softly as he and Nick headed toward the 'Vette.

          "And we'll go play with Tricor," the dark-haired man added.


	13. Chapter 13

          A loud crack echoed through the room as the bars on one of the windows disengaged, but the crash as Eric pulled over one of the bookcases almost obscured it.

          "I hate this place!" Eric shouted, wrestling with the other bookshelf.

          When the young man realized that it was too big to move, he started emptying the shelves, throwing the objects at the nearest wall. "I hate them! We're better than this!"

          Thomas and Lauren moved in, raising their voices to match Eric's volume, and dodging the occasional object that got carefully tossed their way. Murray moved over to the fireplace, which was as far as he could get from the threesome, and tried to look frightened. It wasn't hard. All he had to do was to imagine what would happen if their captors noticed the bars hanging slightly askew outside the window.

          The door burst open and Todd barreled in, taking the steps in a single leap. He didn't stop, just bludgeoned his way through Lauren and Thomas, who quickly stepped backward, and grabbed Eric's shoulders, yanking him away from the bookcase. A glass vase the scientist was holding slipped through his fingers, shattering as it hit the floor. Glass shards and splinters spun across the wooden floor, some scattering onto the Persian rug. Thomas and Lauren backed away hastily.

          Todd punched Eric in the stomach, grinning when his victim doubled over with a gasp. Lifting a foot, he then rammed it into the engineer's groin, his smile widening at the choked cry that resulted as the man went to his knees.

          "Todd!"

          The kidnapper turned his head enough to look at his team leader, now standing in the doorway. "Yeah?"

          "Enough. Leave him alone."

          Todd's lip curled, and for a moment Murray was afraid that he was going to ignore the order and continue beating the man lying at his feet, but after a pause the man shrugged, then glanced around at the rest of them. "Hey, just for this, you guys can just forget about any more meals today. Enjoy your last day together!" he said cheerily, stepping over Eric and up to join Brad. The door shut behind them, and the other three immediately moved toward Eric, stepping carefully through the broken glass to kneel beside him.

          Eric had fallen onto his side, whether for dramatic effect or because he couldn't hold himself up anymore, Murray couldn't tell. Although given his closed eyes and fetal position, not to mention his hands cupped around his crotch area, the detective didn't think the scientist was playing with them. But he was aware enough to start blushing, and Murray looked up at Lauren, who bit her lip as she stared at the fallen man, then deliberately got to her feet and stepped over to the window. The computer expert smiled at her approvingly as she passed, and she flushed, looking away.

          It took a few minutes for the throbbing and the cramps to wear off, and both Murray and Thomas waited patiently until Eric opened his eyes.

          "Very good work, Eric," Thomas rumbled, smiling. "Exemplary. Although I regret the price you paid for that distraction; Todd is indeed an animal." That last was said bitterly, and Murray, looking across at the man, sighed silently. He knew all too well the disillusionment that came with dealing with people like Todd; the key was in remembering that they were, when all was said and done, a very small proportion of the actual population. And it helped if the people you worked with served as constant reminders of what men could actually be together. He had an abrupt flare of homesickness so intense he could taste it, and cut it off quickly.

          "Well, we did it."

          Lauren's voice was low, but the hope and triumph resonating through it made the words ring in their ears. Murray and Thomas looked up, while Eric blinked in her direction, trying to focus.

          She looked back at them, then beckoned. "Come on, come and look!"

          Several minutes and a good deal of cooperative work later, they stood beside her, Eric leaning on Thomas. They blinked at the bars, hanging an inch or so off the window. Only a screen separated them from the summer grass and the birds they could see nesting in it.

          There was a long silence as they stared out, feasting on the freedom so close, and then Lauren said softly, raising a hand to the screen, "Well, what are we waiting for? We can tear the screens out; let's go."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Nick and Cody paused in the entryway outside Tricor's president's office, glancing at each other, then set themselves and thrust open the wide double doors.

          A receptionist sitting at a wide desk looked up, her eyes narrowing at their blue uniforms. "We weren't informed of any repairs," she said, frowning.

          The two men swapped glances and shook their heads. "There, you see?" Nick asked the blond. "What'd I tell you? They _never_ think it can happen to them."

          Cody sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know," he said tiredly. "And when it does, we'll get an emergency call in the middle of the night to come fix it – now. If they'd just let us do our jobs when we should do them, they'd never have to worry about that."

          "Worry about what?" the receptionist demanded.

          "As if earthquake damage only happens to lower levels," agreed Nick. "You know, half the time I'm just tempted to leave it be and let them pay for it."

          "Pay for what?" the receptionist said, standing. "Did you say something about earthquake damage? We don't have earthquake damage."

          Cody glanced at her as if seeing her for the first time, then back to Nick. "Yep, that's what they all say."

          "Until half their building falls in the lake," Nick grumbled, ignoring the woman. "Then they jump on us for not doing our jobs."

          Cody heaved a sigh, then, glancing longingly at the door, said reluctantly, "Well, I guess we really do have to do this."

          "Damn," Nick swore, checking his watch. "You know, I told Anna I was going to pick her up at ten for a late breakfast. I say forget this job; let them deal with the pieces later."

          "Pieces?" The receptionist was becoming increasingly upset. "You can't leave us like this; it's your _job!_ Lives are at stake here!"

          "Not ours," Nick muttered, then at Cody's stern look, he capitulated. "Oh, okay, let's do it. Maybe if we make it fast, I can still get to Anna's by ten-thirty."

          "You'll take as long as it takes!" the receptionist snapped, rounding the desk to face them. "You just do what you have to do!"

          The two of them became very busy wandering around the room, examining corners and beams and muttering to themselves about the results. A few minutes later Cody called Nick over to consult about a ceiling beam that ran straight through the room into the president's office, and after a few minutes of frowning and shaking heads, Cody started toward the door to the office.

          The receptionist stood in his path immediately. "But you can't go in there!"

          "Oh, for cryin' out loud, lady," Nick said irritably, pushing back his cap. "You think earthquakes give a damn about your precious president? Still," he brightened, "if I leave now I can still make it to Anna's at ten." He'd half-turned toward the outside door before she stepped aside, fuming.

          "Oh, very well," she said ungraciously. "Just let me tell him you're coming."

          She turned to punch a number on the phone pad and lifted the receiver, and the detectives took advantage of her distraction and stepped through the door, ignoring her cry from behind them.

          Nick turned swiftly and locked the door, then joined Cody as they both advanced on the man sitting behind the luxurious desk.

          The man looked to be in his mid-fifties, and had the unmistakable air of money written across his expensive suit and tie. He glanced up as the door closed behind them, frowning as he reached for the phone.

          "Uh-uh," Nick said, stepping forward and slamming the heel of his hand on the man's wrist.

          "What is this?" the man sputtered. "Do you know who I am? I'm the president of Tricor and–"

          "Oh, don't worry, Mr. Simmons," Cody cut in. "We know exactly who you are."

          "That's right," Nick agreed, pressing down on the man's wrist as he struggled to reach his phone. "You're the man who owes us money."

          "And we mean to get it," the blond finished, his smile very thin and quickly gone.

          Mr. Simmons stopped struggling against Nick and stared at them. "What– What do you mean?"

          "Oh, I think you know," Cody said softly, leaning over the desk to look at him. Mr. Simmons shrank back.

          "You see, we have some packages we're, well, holding for you," Cody added, straightening slightly, to the president's obvious relief. "But we didn't get enough money to deliver them."

          The man's face paled. "But-But you were paid. The-The packages are ours!"

          Nick grinned, lifting his hand from Simmons' wrist only to yank the cord out of the phone as the company man grabbed for it.

          Cody lifted the president out of his chair and threw him against the wall, pinioning him, his furious expression silencing the executive. The anger, at least, was real; all Cody had to do was to imagine Murray as this man's property and he had more than enough strength at his command.

          "Now," he snarled, "let's get one thing straight! The packages are ours!"

          "And they're goin' to stay ours, too, unless we get our money," Nick added, the set expression on his face convincing the president that the dark-haired man wasn't far from violence himself, a perception that wasn't far from the truth.

          There was silence in the room for a moment, long enough for the secretary's anxious voice to register on the other side of the locked door. "Mr. Simmons! Mr. Simmons! Are you all right?"

          The man inhaled shakily, his gaze fixed on the door, then Cody shifted and their eyes met. "Don't even think about it," the detective warned.

          Simmons' gaze dropped and he sagged in the blond's grip. "All right! All right! I'll write you a check."

          Cody shook him. "Do you take us for fools? Cash, no check."

          "Fine, fine," the man mumbled, reaching for a drawer. The detectives' guns were immediately in their hands, and he stopped, eyes wide. "It's-It's where I keep cash on hand; I'll open it slowly."

          Which he did, reaching into the space to withdraw a stack of hundred dollar bills. "Would-Would fifty thousand be enough?"

          "It'll do," Nick said shortly, watching as the man counted bills with trembling fingers.

          He handed them to Cody, who took it, then laid it on the desk and said, "All right. We got it."

          The door burst open, spilling in three officers and Joanne, who walked over to join the two detectives, the others standing back.

          Simmons broke into a huge, hopeful smile. "Officer, am I glad to see you! These two men are kidnappers–"

          The words died as Nick and Cody lifted their shirts, exposing the wires they wore.


	14. Chapter 14

          "Ready, everyone?" Lauren asked, glancing around at them all.

          Thomas held out a hand to stop her as she reached for the screen. "Lauren, we can't all go."

          Three sets of eyes fixed on him in shock. "What?" Eric whispered, trying in vain to straighten up.

          "Why not?" Lauren protested.

          Thomas inhaled, his jawline rigid. "Because if we do, our kidnappers will discover our escape quickly. Think!" he urged, glancing across the three. "They look in on us every few hours; they would be sure to notice our absence, and they would be almost certain to track us down and recapture us. They know this territory; we do not. The advantages are all on their side. No," he said quietly, "one of us must go and call in help for the rest of us."

          There was a long silence in which Murray felt his chest constrict. For just a moment, he had had dreams of standing on the deck of the _Riptide_ that evening, staring out over the harbor as the sun set. To see freedom so close, just past the window, and to do nothing was almost more than he could stand, and he knew the others felt the same.

          He took a breath, fighting with all the discipline he'd learned with Nick and Cody not to tear out the screen. "Thomas is right," he said, his voice tight.

          "What makes you think one of us escaping is any better than all of us?" Lauren asked. The single tear creeping down her cheek didn't affect the steady words. "After all, they'll notice that, too."

          "Not if we tell them that the person is in the restroom," Thomas said. "That has happened on occasion when they've delivered food, and they have simply checked to ascertain that the bathroom door is closed. It is not, after all, as if there were any place any one of us could be."

          Lauren nodded. "That's true."

          "Then either you or Lauren should be the one to escape," Murray commented, glancing at them. "Both Eric and I are injured, and so–"

          "No," Eric said curtly, pausing to take a short breath as he managed to straighten some more. "Murray is the only one who can go."

          "What?" Lauren and Thomas said together, turning to stare at him. "Why?"

          Eric looked at them, a cold grimness to his gaze that made them shift uneasily and glance away. "Because he's the one they'll kill if they find one of us missing. Or have you forgotten what happened the last time one of us made a mistake and he paid for it?"

          Murray swallowed, not looking at anyone, but the quality of the silence that followed Eric's comment told him they agreed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Would you be willing to come down to the station and describe the man, sir?"

          Nick shifted from one foot to the other as the gas station owner nodded ready acquiescence to Joanne's question, and the detective felt a small leap of hope at the man's willingness. His gaze drifted outside and he gritted his teeth at sight of the pay phone booth.

          The president of Tricor had quickly volunteered the schedule he'd used to talk with the kidnappers and scribbled the phone number on a handy post-it. But the phone turned out to be a pay phone, and the president's last scheduled call had been that morning at seven, when the kidnappers agreed to deliver the scientists that evening.

          Nick let his eyes sweep across the police-infested parking lot as he and Cody followed the lieutenant and the witness outside. He could feel the blond's frustration in his gut, and it only heightened his own as he thought back over the president's information.

          Unfortunately for all of them, the Tricor executive had no idea where the kidnappers would deliver the scientists, and his knowledge of the intermediary who was in charge of the process was limited to yet another phone number, which led them to yet another pay phone, this one in the middle of downtown LA.

          At least the gas station owner had actually seen someone using the pay phone, not just once, but three different times. His description of the man was all they had, although police teams were exploring the area, hoping that the kidnappers might have chosen to stay close by the phone booth.

          It was a slim hope, but the fact that this neighborhood was on the edge of town led them to believe it might be a good place for the kidnappers to hole up with their victims. With that in mind, the police were investigating nearby houses with all the care they would have used on any potential crime scene.

 _And meanwhile_ , Nick thought sourly, _we go trotting off to the police station. Again_.


	15. Chapter 15

          Murray stumbled over the grass-cloaked stone and fell to his knees, the jarring thud sending a shoot of pain straight through his ribs. His head hurt, his chest hurt, he was hungry and thirsty and tired and driven.

          And he was free.

          The first few moments after he'd clawed his way through the window, avoiding falling by a narrow margin, had been euphoric to say the least. To feel the sunlight again, sniff the breeze, lift his head and see a horizon, was so much more than he'd been able to do that it seemed magical.

          Strange, too. After all, it wasn't like sunlight hadn't flooded through the windows in the room, or fresh air either. But for all of that, there was a subtle but oh-so-significant difference between looking at the world through bars and standing outside them.

          But as long as his friends were behind those bars, so was he, and that reality drove him ruthlessly, forcing him to forget about his physical condition and his own freedom as he struggled to regain them theirs.

          Murray pushed himself to his feet and brushed his tangled hair out of his eyes, blinking as he turned his head, his gaze tracing the line of the road that ran to his left. He didn't dare walk the road itself, although its level path was tempting. But there was no knowing if one of their captors would drive down the dirt-packed street and sight him, and since it led straight by their house, they might well do just that. Someone had to pick up the fast food that was delivered to them every day, and although several cars had driven by, he hadn't been close enough to identify them if they'd been his captors. He was hoping that if he followed the road it would lead to an intersection, a store, even another house. While the kidnappers might have contacts in the area, knocking on someone's door was a risk Murray knew he'd have to take. But so far, there'd been no houses, and the road wound onward without branching.

          And it was already almost noon.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Yep, that's him," the gas station owner said, nodding at the sketch the police artist held out to him. "Blond hair, blue eyes, and a look in them like you wasn't nothing but an ant under his shoe. Made my skin creep."

          Nick took the sketch and stared down at it, feeling Cody's gaze over his shoulder. The artist had caught the look the man had described, and meeting that pictured gaze, the brunet swallowed, helpless anger roiling through him as he thought of Murray in this man's power.

          "I've seen that look," Cody said softly as the building owner was ushered off to be driven back to his job. Joanne stood quietly with them, listening to their conversation.

          "Yeah, me, too," Nick agreed, glancing up at his friend. "Remember Gilbert?"

          Cody grimaced. "You mean Private Gilbert? The one who thought killing was fun and volunteered so he could enjoy it?"

          Joanne made an involuntary sound, and Nick grimaced. "Yeah, him. It's the same look."

          Cody glanced down at the sketch, then shivered and looked away. "Yeah, you're right. Whoever he is, this guy's sick."

          "Amen to that, buddy," Nick said, putting a hand on his shoulder and turning them toward the door. "Let's go find him. The sooner the better."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Murray fingered the chain-link fence gingerly, half-afraid it wasn't real. But fences meant a house somewhere, a phone, the police, and rescue.

          He shook his head, glancing upward at the sun, which was just past the midpoint. Time was running.

          The problem was that he had no idea which way to follow the fence to reach the assumed house in the quickest amount of time, and he stood at a corner. In one direction, the fence paralleled the road, in the other, it curved away from it. If he followed the road, it meant he had to step onto the dirt-packed trail and hope that Brad and his companions wouldn't drive by while he was on it. If he followed the fence away from the road, there was no guarantee when it might reach the house it no doubt belonged to.

          He paced carefully down the small slope that led to the street, then paused behind a screen of trees edging the road, listening. There was silence as far as he could hear, broken only by the birdsong that echoed everywhere at this time of year. He gnawed the inside of his cheek, then straightened his thin shoulders and stepped onto the street, a small puff of dust rising from the impact. There were simply too many chances to miss the house the other way, and a calculated risk seemed called for.

          He soon found that the risk was greater than he'd realized, when he found the steep ditch that opposed the fence on the other side of the road. The two obstacles together forced him to stay on the road even more than he'd expected.

          At first the ability to walk a straight and level path seemed glorious after the dodging, awkward line he'd been traveling, but soon the openness made him edgy. He started at every sound, constantly turning to glance backward down the road. As a consequence his already aching ribs and head were beginning to throb with every step, and he hugged his ribcage with one arm, trying to cushion it. The fence gleamed silver in the afternoon sunlight, and Murray focused on it longingly.

          The road curved slightly, and he almost broke into a run as he saw the gate, but the quick surge of double vision and the sudden agony in his side halted him after only a few steps. He was forced to stop before he reeled off the road, blinking furiously to clear his vision.

          He reached the gate and leaned against it, quickly realizing it was locked. But his gaze immediately fixed on the house that he could see some fifty feet inside, and he took a careful breath to yell. The breath exploded in his lungs as a cacophony of barking and snarls exploded inches from him, and he took a swift step backward just before the three huge Rottweilers hit the gate, their heavy bodies shaking the ground under his feet.

          "Nice-Nice doggies," he wheezed, trying to wave them off.

          The dogs redoubled their noise, and Murray tried to peer past them at the house. Surely someone would respond to such an alert, and could call them off and open the gate.

          "You there! Move! Off my property! Off, I say!" The large, grizzled man abruptly standing behind the dogs hefted his rifle meaningfully, his gaze hard on the young man.

          "But I need your help!" Murray protested. "I'm escaping from–"

          "Git! I don't help no cons! This here's my property and I want you off!"

          "I've been kidnapped, for goodness sakes!" Murray snapped, trying to raise his voice above the dogs' barking. For a moment he almost succeeded, then his ribs caught up with the work he was demanding of them and he had to stop, trying not to pant. "At least… call the police!"

          "I don't need no police to guard my place! Now git, before I let my dogs out! They'll take you down but good!"

          Murray had a vision of Nick and Cody finding his body under the pack of dogs and shuddered. On the heels of that, he saw the room where his friends waited. If this man wouldn't help, he must have neighbors who would, and the detective couldn't afford to waste time here.

          He backed away, still reluctant to leave the taunting promise of help, feeling that if he could just explain the situation things would change. The man's expression didn't alter, though, and Murray swallowed hard, trying to contain the wild frustration that ran through him. Turning his back on the man, he started off, unable to halt his frequent glances backward. His walk became a stumbling trot, however, as the man stepped forward, his hand lifting for the lock on the gate. He stood like that until Murray was some twenty feet away, and only then turned around and headed toward the house, waving the dogs on with him.

          Murray halted then, bending forward and resting his hands on his knees, trying to breathe past the sharp stabs of agony that threatened to turn the sunlit day into a kaleidoscope of colors. He didn't even have the breath to swear, and failure ran through him like a gray, dark river.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "No one's seen him, damn it!" Nick snarled as the two of them met in the center of the small strip mall they were searching, sketches in hand.

          Cody gripped the brunet's shoulder, his own frustration making him clutch the drawing in his other hand tighter. "I know, I know. But if they're around here, someone has."

          Nick glanced at him and shook his head. "You know how few people really see anyone else. Why should these people be any different?" He waved a hand around them, the gesture an echo of Cody's own discouraged feelings.

          "Because they have to be," the blond answered as they turned toward another store, his lips thin. "Let's do this one together; it's the last one before the Jack-in-the-Box. Besides," he added, still responding to Nick's question, his own feelings of urgency pressing in on him, "it's only one o'clock; we have the time. And the police are searching everywhere around here. That should help."

          His gut disagreed with him, and from Nick's sideways glance, so did his friend as the dark-haired detective swung open the door, a small bell announcing their entrance.

          Ten minutes later they were back on the sidewalk, another negative answer heightening their tension. Without a word they headed toward the fast food business that stood at the corner. After they'd checked that, they'd have to call Joanne to see where they could search next.

          It took a few minutes for them to find and convince the manager that they needed to speak to all her employees immediately, but once she understood the situation she was very accommodating, and soon a small circle of employees surrounded the detectives as they explained what they were doing and showed the pictures around.

          One by one all the workers shook their heads, expressions of regret on all their faces. "Sorry, sir," said one young man. "But hey, you might want to talk to Sandy; she's good with people and she's been here longer than any of us, knows all the regulars and stuff."

          Nick looked at him, not hopefully. "Where's she?"

          "She's coming," a blonde said, pointing to a young woman who was just exiting the hallway leading to the restrooms. She saw the group and detoured toward them, her light brown hair lifting slightly in the breeze.

          "What's going on?" she asked as she halted beside the blonde girl. The small tag pinned to her uniform named her as a manager-in-training.

          They explained again, and Nick held out the sketch. She peered at it, hesitated, then shook her head. "No, I haven't seen _him_ ," she said, the emphasis clear in her voice.

          "Him?" Cody repeated, exchanging glances with the brunet. "Could you expand on that?" he said, remembering a phrase he'd heard Joanne say entirely too many times over the last week.

          She frowned down at the sketch, then shook her head. "No, I definitely haven't seen this man, but I have seen another one who looked like this."

          "What do you mean?" Nick asked, stepping forward.

          She looked up at him. "I mean that he has the same kind of look as this one does. Kind of hard to ignore, you know?" she asked in answer to their frowns. "Like he's someone who could turn on you at any moment if something goes wrong. He looked dangerous, and unstable."

          The two detectives exchanged glances again, each reading cautious hope in the other's eyes. "Miss," Nick said, touching her lightly on the shoulder, "could you come sit down and tell us about this man?"

          "Sure," she said promptly, leading the way to a nearby table. The other employees headed behind the counter, with many backward glances.

          "Now," Cody said when they were settled, "Miss…" He squinted at her nametag. "Dunbar…"

          "Just Sandy," she said, smiling.

          "Okay," Nick agreed, his serious tone catching her attention, "what can you tell us about this man?"

          She frowned, obviously thinking back. "He's young, like the guy in that sketch, but he has dark hair and eyes. Around six feet tall, I think. He's come in every day this week, today included, breakfast and lunch, buys enough for eight to nine people, always to go."

          "No one else ever with him?" Cody questioned.

          She shook her head. "No, never. And no one waiting in his car, either." She shrugged at their curious looks. "He always parks right outside the south entrance, and that's a direct line-of-sight with where I usually stand behind the counter, so I noticed. Besides, people who buy to go usually either come in with others or leave them in the car, and they often have children. He never bought kids' meals, and no one ever came in with him. So I looked."

          "How long ago was he here today?" Nick asked.

          She glanced at the clock. "About an hour ago. Same deal as always. Except that he seemed more cheerful today." She shuddered. "His smile doesn't do anything for how he looks, though."

          "Hmm," Cody said, looking at Nick. "What do you think?"

          The brunet shrugged. "I say it's the best lead we've got. We're running out of time, and it makes sense they'd grab fast food meals. I mean, I don't see these guys as the cooking types, you know?"

          Cody nodded, aware of Sandy's curious study of them. "No, me neither. Eight to nine people is about right, and if they're around here somewhere, then it makes sense they'd grab food here. It's one of the few fast food places around."

          Nick nodded. "Chances are they'd grab supper here, too."

          Cody grimaced. "We hope."

          "Yeah," Nick said shortly, his own intense worry showing for a brief moment. He turned to Sandy. "Sandy, would you mind coming down to the police station and describing the man you saw to the police artist?"

          She hesitated, then nodded. "Sure. But you guys have to show me some ID first."

          Cody grinned, the first real smile he could remember in a while. "Good girl. And we'll be riding downtown with the police lieutenant, so you can check with her to see that we're on the up and up."

          "Damn straight," Nick said approvingly as he held out his PI badge for her to inspect. "And I'll go call her right now." He rose and headed off toward a bank of pay phones.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Murray ran his gaze along the road, following the silver glint of the fence that bordered it as far as he could see, cutting him off from any escape on that side. The steep-sided ditch still edged it on the other, fairly deep and muddy at the bottom. It too seemed constant, and he sighed, resigned to staying on the road for the duration, and tried to tone down his nervousness at the open exposure.

          There were power lines high above the street, and he took that as a good sign. There must be other people around here than the man with the dogs, and they couldn't all be that unfriendly. He grimaced, remembering some of the communities he and his partners had been through. At least he hoped they couldn't all be that unfriendly.

          Thinking about his friends made his throat tight, though. God, what he'd give to see the 'Vette come roaring up the road, with Nick at the wheel and Cody beside him. There'd been so many other times when he'd needed them and they'd found him, but he had a feeling this wasn't one of them. This time he'd have to give them some help in that department.

          He glanced up at the sun and shook his head. The angle indicated it was past noon, and he'd been gone now for two to three hours. Right around now was probably when the kidnappers would look in on them, and he hoped that the others' ploy with the locked bathroom door would hide his absence. He knew Eric could lock it with his pocketknife; they'd already practiced it. But whether it would fool the kidnappers he didn't know.

          He stumbled, almost falling before he could catch himself. He was so tired. And hungry, too. But the thirst was the hardest to ignore, and he half-wished that the ditch had more than a muddy trickle running through it. He might be able to force himself to drink it if it had. His ribs hurt, too, and his head throbbed with a steady beat that told him that running was out of the question.

          Movement in the sky caught his attention, and he watched as a glider swung in lazy circles, the warm air lifting him higher as the detective gazed upward. For a moment the computer expert let himself visualize the _Mimi_ buzzing its way through the blue afternoon, the sound echoing over the ground below.

          It took a minute for him to realize that he was really hearing an engine and he swung around, eyes widening as he saw the flash of a car through the trees on the road behind him. Standing on a slight hill, he could see the line of the road below him and knew that as soon as the driver swung around the curve the computer expert had just cleared that he would be clearly visible.

          Panic raced through him, and he spun toward the ditch, taking the few steps to reach it in an adrenaline-driven rush, not noticing the stabbing pain through his ribs and head as he scrambled down the incline, trying to keep his balance and get below the line of the road at the same time.

          The car burned around the corner, showering the side of the road with rocks and dirt, and Murray glanced up, a shoot of relief blooming through him as he recognized the car as different from the one sitting in front of the kidnappers' house.

          The momentary easing of tension cost him, though. He glanced back at the bank he was climbing too late to avoid the loose stone that rolled under his foot, and he couldn't catch his balance on the steep slope. He fell, grabbing helplessly for branches that slid through his fingers, and the heavy thud as he hit the damp ground sparked waves of agony that sliced upwards through his ribs and head, followed by a tumbling cacophony of images as he rolled over and over until he hit the bottom, where he lay still, eyes closed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Cody followed his partner and Sandy over to the office where Joanne stood waiting for them, a photo in her hand. The blond could tell that the case was wearing her down, too, and he could see, as well, the growing knowledge in her eyes that time was slipping away. He knew, just as well as she did, how many kidnapping cases turned out, but he blocked that thought from his mind. This was different. This was Murray, and they would get him back.

          Joanne laid the photo down on the small table as they joined her, and indicated it with a wave of her hand. "See anyone you know?" she asked.

          Cody glanced down and stiffened. One of the photos was of a blond-haired, blue-eyed man that he immediately recognized as the person behind the sketch he held. The police had found a match to the sketch, and that meant a profile. He took a breath and exchanged glances with Nick, seeing the hope there ready to fan itself into excitement.

          There were two other photos laid out on the table, and his gaze immediately narrowed on the dark-haired, dark-eyed man pictured in one of them. Glancing sideways at Sandy, he found her staring at it, too.

          But she was thorough, he had to give her that. She looked over all three of them, then went back to studying the dark-haired man. Finally, looking up at Joanne, she nodded. "That's him," she said with certainty.

          "You're sure?"

          "Positive," she replied with assurance. "I don't know the other two at all, but him…" She tapped the picture. "Him I'm sure of."

          Joanne nodded, a grim smile touching her lips. "Thank you, Sandy. You may just have saved four peoples' lives with the information you've given us. If you'd be willing to go over your story one more time so we can take it down." She caught the eye of one of her officers as Sandy nodded, and he came over and escorted the young woman to his desk, where she promptly started to talk while he took notes.

          Nick picked up the pictures, flipping through them with Cody looking over his shoulder. "So, who is she?" he asked, holding up the photo of the woman, dark-haired and smiling.

          "Cara Karobe," Joanne answered succinctly. "One of a trio of mercenaries, ex-military, who work for the highest bidder. This is the first time they've been suspected of kidnapping, but their activities have run the gamut of everything else."

          Reaching for the pictures, she rifled through until she found the one she wanted and held it up. "Brad Dayton is our blond. He's the one who talked with the president of Tricor, and is probably the leader of the team."

          She shuffled Brad to the back of the deck and they stared at the second man. "Todd Wildeman. Erratic temper, very dangerous man. It seems he's the one who fetches the food each day."

          She shifted him to the back as well. "And Cara Karobe. Seems she's a wild card of sorts, never quite predictable. Sometimes she works with them, sometimes not. Seems this is one of the on times for her."

          Glancing up at them, she smiled. "Gentlemen, it seems that we finally have a lead."

          Cody nodded. "Todd Wildeman. If he fetches supper at the Jack-in-the-Box, we've got him."

          "Yes," Joanne said, her smile dying. "If he does. It would make sense to hold to their pattern, but they're professionals and should know better than to have a pattern. He might go elsewhere."

          Nick fanned the three pictures and looked them over. "They don't look like they're that professional anymore."

          "Yeah," Cody agreed, leaning over his shoulder to examine them. "If they're unstable, they could be losing that professionalism to habit."

          Joanne nodded. "The Jack-in-the-Box is staked out by plainclothes officers, as is every fast food business within three miles. All the police cars have been recalled from that area, and the search is proceeding without officers in uniform. We definitely don't want to spook our birds."

          "No," Cody said soberly. "We'd like to be at the Jack-in-the-Box this evening, though."

          "Sometime around three thirty, just in case," Nick added, laying the photos on the table and glancing up at her.

          She smiled faintly. "I thought you would be. I'll see you there."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Murray shifted, then opened his eyes, only to close them quickly as pain erupted behind them, blossoming into twin sunbursts that slowly died away into a cascade of rainbow sparks.

          He tried not to sigh, and lay for a long moment taking stock.

          His head hurt. No surprise there. It was almost certainly going to hurt more once he stood up, and he wondered uneasily about the aftereffects of concussions. He was pretty sure that whatever his condition had been prior to escape, he'd managed to make it considerably worse.

          His ribs also hurt, and he was sure the same things applied to them. He just hoped that they were still only bruised and not cracked. _Please, don't let them be broken_ , he thought fervently. He didn't need that on top of everything else.

          As for the rest of him, well, he was damp and cold and he had a feeling that he was going to be sore and bruised as well, but if there were any injuries he should be concerned about right now they weren't making themselves known just yet.

 _Well, no time like the present to find out_ , he thought grimly and slowly sat up, gritting his teeth against the pain that made his breath short. Little white spots bobbed at the corners of his sight, and he fought them back, gritting his teeth. He _would not_ lose consciousness again; his friends couldn't afford it.

          The pain lessened after a few moments, and he finally climbed to his feet, wincing as various bruises made themselves known. He turned to study the bank, his gaze following the long scrape that marked his fall. He grimaced and looked down the ditch, searching for an easier way up than the one he'd used to get down. But the banks ran on as far as he could see, steep and trail-less.

          He hesitated. Maybe it would be easier to just use the ditch as far as he could. After all, if he climbed out now he'd just be stuck on the road again, with no place to hide. As long as the ditch paralleled the road, he was fine. Of course, if the fence on the other side ended at another house, he was out of luck because he wouldn't see it. But if a house or driveway or another road cut across this one, the ditch would run straight into it, and he couldn't avoid it.

          Choices, choices. Make the right one and he and his friends would be home tonight; make the wrong one and they, at least, would never see home again.

          He glanced up through the dappled shadows, then swallowed hard as the position of the sun registered. It was much lower now, and he wondered how long he'd been lying there stunned.

          Too long. Time to get moving.

          But it wasn't as easy as he'd thought. The recent rains had left the bottom of the ditch muddy, and he slipped and slid mercilessly. Caught between the fear of falling and the fear of failure, the opposing drives to be careful and to hurry left his muscles tight and his breathing shallow, and despite his attempt to stay aware of his surroundings, his focus narrowed to the walls that locked him in.

          He rushed onward, ignoring his own pain and stress as he negotiated a path somewhere between the afternoon sunlight and his own nightmares.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Incoming," Nick said in a low voice, his relaxed posture not shifting at all, and Cody turned his head just enough to watch the man who'd just entered the Jack-in-the-Box.

          Sure enough, he was definitely the man pictured as one of the trio of mercenaries, and the detectives felt the tension in the room rise as the plainclothes scattered around saw him as well.

          The mercenary didn't seem to notice anything awry, although in the evening-filled business that wasn't too surprising. Children shrieked, one man laughed, and talk buzzed loudly enough that Todd didn't immediately notice the two plainclothesmen who moved slowly to stand beside him.

          But it only took a few seconds, and before either of them could say anything, the dark-haired man stepped backward, shoving a couple out of the way, and drew his gun.

          Chaos erupted as people screamed and shouted, parents shoved children out of the way, lovers tried to protect each other, and everyone tried to escape the path of the weapon.

          "Down! Down! Everyone down!" shouted Nick and Cody as they lunged off their benches and into the melee, guns drawn.

          Various officers echoed the commands as they too joined the conflict.

          Todd aimed and fired twice in quick succession, and one officer fell, holding his leg.

          Nick saw the muzzle swing in their direction and dived to knock Cody out of the way.

          The two of them rolled on the floor, and Nick felt the sudden burn of pain across the top of his shoulder. He hissed, but came up on his knees in unison with Cody and fired, the echoes of their shots simultaneous.

          Three other guns spoke almost with them, and Todd wavered where he stood, then his knees buckled and he fell, the gun skittering out of loose fingers as he folded bonelessly onto the floor.

          There was silence for a brief moment, as officers rose cautiously out of hiding behind benches and tables, guns ready as they advanced on the mercenary, who lay still and unmoving, eyes closed.

          "Is he–?" Cody asked as he and Nick converged on the officer kneeling beside the mercenary. Behind the question trembled all their fear for their missing partner, and the sympathy in the officer's eyes was clear as he looked up at them.

          "No," he said quietly, his finger on the fallen man's throat artery, "he's alive."

          "Thank God for that," Cody breathed, glancing at Nick with a smile, one which quickly died as he saw the blood running down his friend's arm. "Nick!"

          "I'm fine, it's just a flesh wound–" But the brunet's explanation was dismissed as he was pushed to sit beside the officer who'd been shot and swiftly examined by the paramedics who were already coming through the doors.

          "It's just a graze," said the paramedic reassuringly a few minutes later, his gaze on Cody, who hovered next to his partner.

          "That's what I said," Nick grumbled, grimacing as the man pulled the bandage tight.

          "Yeah, he'll be fine," the paramedic smiled, ignoring the detective. "Just have him take it easy for a few days and come in if infection sets in." He gathered up his equipment and moved to join his compatriots as they bent over the other officer and the mercenary, readying them for transport.

          Cody smiled at his friend, patting his other shoulder. "Hey, buddy – thanks. I owe you one."

          "Oh, now we're keeping tabs?" Nick asked, shaking his head. "I'll knock it off the ones I owe you."

          "We have a problem."

          Joanne's low comment brought them around, and they stepped over with her to stare down at the mercenary, not noticing the stares of the civilians as they were ushered out of the building, whispering and wide-eyed.

          "Tell them," Joanne instructed the chief paramedic, who stood wearily as the two men were lifted on stretchers and efficiently hurried out the door. Seconds later the wail of sirens echoed as one of the two ambulances raced out of the parking lot.

          The paramedic pushed sweaty hair off his forehead and sighed. "The officer will be fine after a few days' rest; the bullet just went through the thigh. In and out – hurt like hell, but he'll be fine in about a week. Wish I could say the same about the other guy, though."

          "What do you mean?" Nick's question beat Cody's by a breath, and they stared at him worriedly.

          "He's unresponsive, and that often means that we're dealing with a coma. I can't be sure here; the doctors at the hospital will have to take those tests and make that determination, but that's what it looks like right now." He shook his head at them. "Several of those bullets were serious, but it's the coma that worries me. That could kill any chance he has right there."

          "You mean that he's not going to wake up." Cody's voice was toneless, and Joanne closed her eyes and sighed.

          The man shook his head as he started toward the door. "Not any time soon, unless he really surprises me. I'm afraid that any answers you want out of him will just have to wait."

          They watched him exit in stunned silence.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Murray stared up at the cross-street that spanned the ditch he stood in, his gaze blank as he took in the meaning of the road. Street or driveway? He wouldn't know until he climbed out.

          The sun slanted down on him, its angle considerably lower than before, and he gritted his teeth as he started up the bank, which, though lower than it had been, was still a challenge to him in his present condition. It took him an endless trail of minutes, and he was sweating when he reached the top, where he stood for a long moment, swaying unsteadily until he gained enough control to raise his head and look around.

          He stood on the edge of a curving driveway, and a comfortable house sat some fifty feet down from him, two cars sitting in front of it.

          He stared for a long moment, the sight simply not registering in his exhaustion-fogged brain. Blinking, he took a hesitant step forward, half-expecting the driveway and everything in it to vanish like the hallucination he almost believed it was. But it didn't, and he took another cautious step, then stumbled on a rock and went to his knees.

          The sudden agony pounding through his ribs and head, on top of everything else that had happened to him and in sight of safety, was almost too much, and dark red spots danced on his horizon. It took a tremendous effort of will to fight them back, and for a moment he wasn't sure he had the strength to win.

          But finally his personal sky cleared and he opened his eyes, lifting his head to focus on the house again. Long shadows shifted over the house from the trees that sat inside the circle of the driveway, and he blinked at their length. He had no time to waste; Todd might well already be heading back with supper, and Murray hoped to have summoned help by then.

          He pushed himself to his feet and staggered, trying to cushion his ribcage with both hands. Convinced now that the house was real, the driving urge toward safety reasserted itself, and he stumbled toward the structure, the adrenaline-surge aiding him over the last few feet, until finally he stood on the porch.

          He lifted his hand to knock, then lowered it and slowly looked down at himself. The clothes he wore were rumpled and worn from four days of use, and they looked as if he'd slept in them, which he had. Mud and dirt were liberally smeared across the fabric, and tears gaped wide here and there, graphically marking his meeting with rocks and bushes along the way. He lifted a hand to his hair, feeling the dirt encrusted there, a few grains falling to the porch as he fingered it, and the rough, tangled mass resisted his efforts to comb through it.

          All in all, the last thing he looked like was a scientist or a detective, and he knew it.

          He closed his eyes, then opened them and squared his shoulders. Lifting a hand, he pressed the doorbell button firmly, hearing a pleasant chime inside.


	16. Chapter 16

          "Eat," Joanne said, pushing the plates back that both Nick and Cody had shoved aside. "You need to keep your strength up, so eat."

          The two men sitting across from her shot her glances that all but asked why, but they accepted her remonstration in silence, and picked up their forks again.

          Watching them move the food around on their plates, she tried not to sigh. To be so close and fail was almost more than she could stand, and she knew that what she felt was only a fraction of what the two detectives were experiencing. To know that the scientists were being sold tonight and to be unable to halt it was the stuff of which nightmares were made, and the police lieutenant knew she was going to have several born of this.

          There was nothing that she could do to help the situation, and that galled her more than anything else. Todd was in the hospital, in a coma, and the doctors weren't hopeful about his prognosis. He was their only lead, and he was out of it for God knew how long, maybe forever. The president of Tricor knew nothing and no one except a voice on a phone, and had no power to halt the upcoming sale.

          They suspected that the kidnappers had their victims stashed in a house somewhere in the area surrounding the Jack-in-the-Box, but there were fifty-three homes in a twenty square-mile area surrounding the fast food business, and even with every officer available checking them out as quickly as possible, it was still going to take more than twenty-four hours, if they approached every house as if it were the kidnappers', which they had to do if they were to have a chance of retrieving the scientists safely. And in twenty-four hours Murray and the other kidnap victims would be somewhere else entirely, probably out of the country. Tricor had business partners and branches of its own in other nations, and it would be relatively easy to hide a few reluctant employees.

          Letting the facts run in her mind had distracted Joanne, and she blinked out of it to find her friends sitting beside her in a blank silence that echoed her own, and she could tell from their expressions that they were thinking similar thoughts.

 _Damn, damn, damn_ , she swore to herself. _If only–_

          Her radio beeped, and she wearily unhooked it from her belt and spoke into it. "Parisi here."

          "Ma'am, we just spoke to Murray Bozinsky, and he–"

          " _What!_ " The cry from the two detectives was simultaneous, and they both lunged to their feet.

          "Where?"

          "What happened?"

          "What'd he say?"

          "Is he all right?"

          Amidst the outcry, Joanne couldn't hear her officer, and eventually she put her fingers to her mouth and blew a piercing whistle, vaguely aware of the attention their table was garnering from other patrons. "Enough!" she snapped as they fell silent, then turned to the radio again. "Repeat that!"

          "We just spoke to Murray Bozinsky, and he gave us the address where the kidnappers are keeping the other scientists, ma'am. 2645 W. Tangleway. It's at the far end of Campbell, just past Violet. I've already dispatched three cars; I assume you'll want to be there too."

          "I'm on my way! Anything else?"

          There was a pause. "Well, ma'am, he said he'd be there, too. I wasn't real clear on that, but I think he escaped and was going back. I tried to talk him out of it, but he hung up on me." They could almost hear the shrug on the other end, and Joanne could hear Nick swearing softly.

          "All right. Wait for me at the turnoff; I want us all to go in together, no sirens, no lights. The scientists' lives are on the line here, and I don't want to lose a single one."

          She hung up on his "Yes, ma'am" and was halfway out of the restaurant before she'd realized that they hadn't paid for the meal, but the owner of the business waved her on and she smiled at him as the three of them raced out of the building and into the parking lot.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Surely you can't mean to go back there!" Scott Burns protested, handing Murray a tall glass of water and then standing back to watch him critically as he drank it, stopping at intervals to let his stomach settle.

          Murray glanced up at the tall dark-haired man. He had truly lucked out this time; Scott and Nan Burns were all that he could've asked for and more. They'd greeted him civilly when they'd opened the door to him, listened to his explanation and needs, and promptly ushered him in, settled him into a cushioned chair and given him the phone.

          "I have to," he answered, an almost overwhelming urge to stay right where he was and let the world run without him for a while surging through him.

          Nan handed him a bowl of trail mix and gestured him to eat it. "It'll give you strength," she said briskly, "especially if you haven't eaten much today. Go on, eat up."

          Murray dipped his fingers into the bowl and dropped a few bits of it into his mouth, chewing slowly. The sudden rush of saliva caught him by surprise and he swallowed.

          "Why do you have to?" Scott protested, sitting down on the couch that sat catty-corner to the detective's chair. "Dr. Bozinsky–"

          "Murray," the detective said, smiling as he scooped up a slightly larger handful of the mix and started to chew his way through it.

          "Murray," Scott repeated. "You've done your share; no one could argue that. Your friends will be rescued; the police are on their way now. Let it go and just stay here."

          Murray closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair, so grateful for the soft cushions behind him that for a moment he forgot Scott's words.

          He took a careful breath and opened his eyes again, looking at them. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

          "But, Dr. Boz–"

          "No," Murray said, interrupting Nan's objection. "Don't call me that," he added, feeling the truth of the words reverberate through him. "I'm not a doctor, or a scientist. I'm a detective in the _Riptide Detective Agency_ , and it's my job to go back. It's what–" He stopped to swallow the mix he'd been chewing. "It's what my partners would do."

          There was a brief moment of silence, and then Nan sighed. "Well, keep chewing that on the way, and take that glass of water with you, too. But if you're set on going, we'd better go now."

          "We?" Murray repeated, looking at them blankly.

          Scott smiled as he offered the computer expert a hand up, which Murray took and stood, swaying a little. "Of course we are," he answered, a twinkle in his eye. "How else did you expect to get back there?"

          Murray blinked, caught without words, then flushed. "But I can't ask you to do that; it's dangerous, there could be–"

          "You're not going unless we drive you," Nan said, her tone leaving no room for choice. "And we won't use the road; there's a gas line that runs down the back of our property and crosses theirs. Good thing the Allards are on vacation right now, or God only knows what would've happened to them," she added in an aside, then returned to her original theme when she saw the mute protest in Murray's eyes. "Don't worry about it, Murray. Our truck can handle the gas line just fine, and you're not going without our help."

          And so ten minutes later Murray found himself climbing carefully out of the pickup into one of the many clumps of trees behind the house he'd left so quickly that morning, the evening sunlight falling warm on his shoulders. He stood on the gravel-studded trail and glanced down it, then toward the house, now hidden behind the trees, and shook his head.

          "What is it?" Scott asked, his nervous glances around reminding Murray that the young man was, after all, a civilian caught up in what was, to him, an extraordinary event. "Something wrong?"

          "No," Murray said softly. "It's just that if I had seen this gas line and followed it instead of the road…" He let the words trail off and shrugged a shoulder carefully.

          Nan smiled at him, then leaned out and kissed him on the cheek. "It happened the way it happened for a reason, Murray. Believe it. Now go and 'kick some butt' in there."

          Murray looked at her, wondering if he had the strength to climb back through the window, let alone "kick some butt." He sighed, then nodded and moved carefully through the trees until he could see the house.

          Behind him he heard the truck turn quietly around and head back down the track. He stood for a long moment and stared at the house, trying to trace a way around the clearing so he could reach the window unobserved. When he thought he had a way, he moved.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

_Oh, man, let us be in time, please let us be in time_ , Cody found himself praying as he sat in tense silence next to Nick as his friend negotiated the city streets behind the flashing lights of the police car that raced toward the kidnapper's house.

          "Murray must've managed to escape without the kidnappers knowing," Nick said at one point as he swung around a curve. "He couldn't go back otherwise."

          "Yeah," Cody agreed, gripping the door tightly as they whirled through an intersection against the light, Joanne leading the way. "But why'd he go back?" he demanded, releasing the frustration he'd felt ever since their friend's phone call. "How does that help them?"

          Nick shrugged as they met up with other police cars, one falling in line behind them. "Don't know. Maybe Murray's afraid of what would happen to the others if they discover he's missing."

          Cody thought about that, trying to distract himself from the 'Vette's rising speed. "Yeah, maybe so. But if we can't get there in time–"

          "We lose Murray again. Even if he escaped once."

          Nick's grim words iced the tight knot in Cody's stomach, and he leaned forward as his friend bore down on the accelerator, western sunlight settling over them in waves.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Murray carefully pushed aside the bars, edged his hands through the screen, and slowly pushed the window wide. He'd stood there for several minutes watching the room and nothing seemed out of place. Eric and Lauren were sitting on the couch, talking, while Thomas was reading a book.

          Everyone looked up at the movement, their eyes widening, and there was a concerted rush for the window and a jumble of soft questions.

          "Murray, what're you doing back here?"

          "You look terrible! Are you all right?"

          "My dear boy, your return, while eminently admirable, should–"

          "Help him in," Eric snapped, reaching out to offer Murray a hand.

          The detective accepted it and climbed over the windowsill, finding it just as difficult as climbing out had been. Once on the floor he stood for a minute, panting, then stepped toward the bathroom, waiting nervously as Eric picked the lock and swung the door open ahead of him.

          "So what happened?" Lauren questioned in a whisper, glancing back at the door to the rest of the house. "Did you find help?"

          "Yes," Murray answered, reaching for a washcloth to run under the tap. He'd managed to clean himself up a little at the Burns' house, and Nan had offered him a clean shirt to replace his torn and muddy one, but his hair was still filthy and uncombed, his pants and shoes dirty. "I called the police and they're on their way now."

          There was a stunned silence as the others took in the news, and Murray took the opportunity to wring out the washcloth and start scrubbing at the stains on his pants. The last thing he or any of them needed was for Brad or the others to notice his disheveled look after his being conspicuously out of sight all day.

          Eric took the washcloth from him and knelt in front of him. "Sit down."

          Murray complied, lowering the toilet seat before gingerly seating himself on it, and braced himself as Eric started rubbing down his pants.

          "But why–?" Lauren started.

          "Are you here?" Thomas finished.

          Eric glanced up at Murray, and meeting the calm gaze the detective knew that the ex-gang member understood exactly why he was there. He looked at the others, wondering if they could. "Because it's my job." He saw their blank looks and sighed. "If Brad or the others noticed I was gone before the police get here, it could put them on the alert, and we don't want that."

          It was a plausible reason and he was glad when they accepted it. Thomas stood and smiled, hope alive in his eyes. "Murray, you are an exceptional man, and I hope to have many more years of knowing you."

          "I, too," Lauren murmured, glancing at Eric in surprise when he said nothing.

          One last swipe and he stood, offering the detective a hand that the smaller man took, levering himself to his feet. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he felt better than he had all day, and guessed that the trail mix the Burns had fed him, plus the water, was helping. But for all of that, he was still intensely weary, and for a moment a surge of desperate hope caught him. _God, to sleep in my own bed tonight!_

          "All right," Thomas said as he led the way into the room they'd all begun to think of as home. "So we wait. Todd is late with supper tonight," he added as they followed him. "Unless he truly meant to send us off to our fates without food. Do you know of anything that relates to that?" he asked, looking back at Murray, who shook his head.

          "Turn off some of these lights," Lauren commented, shrugging off Thomas' statement as she stepped across to flip several switches, "and Murray's appearance won't be so obvious, either."

          Eric smiled at her, and the detective nodded approvingly.

          "Have a seat, too, why don't you?" she asked, patting the sofa in invitation.

          "Thanks," Murray said, hearing his voice slur as he sank into the cushions.

          She patted him on the shoulder, then moved to sit at the couch's other end. Eric perched on one of the arms, and Thomas dragged over the chair from the desk and seated himself in it.

          Murray glanced around at them and understood. None of them wanted to get too far from the others, as if together they stood a better chance.

          Barely had they gotten settled when they heard Brad's sharp voice outside the door, then it was flung wide. "All right!" he snapped, stepping hurriedly down the stairs toward them. "Everyone on their feet! It's time to leave!"

          "But–" Lauren started, then subsided at Murray's small headshake. They stood, automatically bunching together as Brad stalked toward them.

          "Glad you could join us!" he snarled at Murray, who bent his head and shuffled toward the stairs without a word.

          "Come on, move!" He prodded them up the stairs and out the door, past Cara, who waited in the hallway, her gun drawn.

          "Anything from Todd?" Murray heard the leader mutter to her and caught a glimpse of her head-shake from the corner of his eyes as she too fell in behind them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Damn it!" Brad muttered, pushing them forward down the hall toward what looked to be a front door. "I don't like it," he commented to Cara. "The feel's wrong; where's Todd? And why's our contact pushing the time up?"

          Murray couldn't hear her low-voiced reply, but his attention was distracted as they exited the house. He could _feel_ eyes on him, and a tense, swelling joy jolted through him. Nick and Cody were watching; he knew it. Adrenaline rushed through him, and he braced himself.

          They were almost to the car when people were suddenly standing in their path, the setting sun at their back, its light glinting on the held guns steady on them. "Police!" shouted voices he knew. "Freeze with your hands up! Do it now!"

          Murray didn't hesitate, but grabbed Lauren, who happened to be nearest to him, and bolted to the right, away from Brad and Cara's guns, the voices, and the line of fire that lay between them. He sensed rather than saw Eric doing the same with Thomas, and then threw himself to the ground, dragging Lauren with him as the sharp staccato hiss and whistle of bullets broke out around him.

          It was over in seconds, and then he felt hands on him, yanking him to his feet and into his partners' rough hugs.

          The next few moments were a babble of questions and answers as police swarmed over the area, bright lights flickering everywhere. Brad and Cara were taken away in handcuffs, and Murray watched them go numbly, knowing that later this would be real. The scientists were all checked over and then ushered into police cars, but not before Eric insisted on telling Nick and Cody about Murray's injuries, which the computer expert had forgotten about in the adrenaline-driven excitement.

          Eric's report was the reason why an hour later Murray sat in the Emergency Room, gritting his teeth as the doctor wrapped his ribs. "Two cracked ribs, the rest heavily bruised," the man said to his partners, who hovered nearby, unwilling to let Murray out of sight even for a moment. "And a mild concussion, although I daresay the headache he's got doesn't feel mild. Give him this for the pain."

          He handed Cody a scribbled prescription, and the detective squinted at it, then looked up and nodded, exchanging a glance with Nick, who stood beside Murray.

          "Okay," said the brunet, his hand gentle on the computer expert's shoulder. "Ready to go home?"

          Murray looked up at him. "Yes," he said simply.


	17. Chapter 17

          It was early morning, and Murray stood at the rail of the _Riptide_ , watching the stars fade on the horizon. The harbor was quiet, only the occasional cry of a seagull echoing across the water. The smell of salt was strong in his nostrils, and he inhaled and held it, then sighed it out. The air was cool, and the boat moved under him as a wave swept across the bay.

          He heard a door shut behind him, and traced the almost silent sets of footsteps across the deck. Nick leaned on the rail on one side of him, Cody on the other, and though Murray didn't look at them, he couldn't help but smile at the protective enclosure. They were silent, too.

          "Want to talk about it?" Nick's low voice slid into the predawn darkness without disturbing it.

          Murray stared across the water, then shook his head. "Nothing to say. It's over."

          Cody shifted, the rustle of clothing loud in the silence. "It won't be over for you for a while."

          "Drugs kicked in?" the dark-haired detective asked.

          Murray nodded, then, remembering they might not see the movement, said, "Yes. Yes, thank you." It was true. His ribs and head hurt less than they had since the injury, and that lack of pain would take some getting used to.

          "Murray," Cody murmured, "why'd you go back? You could've just waited at that house and we would've picked you up there. Why walk back into the lion's den?"

          The computer expert stared out over the bay for so long that he felt the other two shift to look at him.

          "Murray?"

          "I was a real bear to live with before the conference, wasn't I?"

          There was a pause, and then Nick replied, "Yeah, pretty much. We figured you had your reasons, but…"

          Murray could hear the shrug. "I was scared," he admitted, not looking at them. "I was afraid how my choices of a career here with you guys would look to my friends."

          "Well," Cody said cautiously when Bozinsky didn't continue, "I guess I can see how that might bother you. I mean, what you do and what they do, it doesn't match up very well."

          "No," Murray whispered, "it didn't."

          "And that's why you went back?" Nick asked.

          Murray glanced at the dark-haired, then back at the horizon, now a firm band of light. "I went back because I was responsible for them. Because it was my job. Because I knew what to expect, and they didn't. If I hadn't gone back, if I had stayed with Scott and Nan, it would be because I was a scientist first." He fell silent again, and felt them exchange glances across him.

          "But you are a scientist, Murray," Cody ventured.

          He shifted impatiently. "No, Cody, no, I'm not. They are scientists. It's what they think and what they do. It's who they are. They breathe being scientists, dream it, live it. I'm a detective, and that's what I think and do and am."

          "And that's why you went back," Nick finished.

          Murray nodded.

          Nick stepped closer to him. "But you can't stop being a scientist, Murray, even if you are a detective first. That's what you bring to being a detective that makes you special – you can't give that up. You have to be both, not just one."

          Murray turned to glance at him. "I know. I'm just… I'm just finding that balance right now, I guess."

          He felt their assent, and on his other side, Cody moved closer as well, his sleeve brushing his arm.

          "Well," Nick said comfortably, laying an arm across the computer expert's shoulders, "if anyone can find their balance, it's you. But we're here if you need to talk about it."

          "Always," Cody concurred.

          Murray glanced from one to the other, and took a breath, relaxing. "I know. And guys… thanks."

          "No problem, buddy," Cody answered, his hand touching Murray's back.

          "No problem… partner," Nick said, and the smaller man could hear the smile in his voice. "Hey, what do you guys say to breakfast?"

          "That sounds great," Cody agreed, turning to lead the way.

          "As long as it isn't fast food," Murray said fervently, and the others' laughter rang out over the water.

          "You've got it, buddy. No fast food. Promise!" Nick said.


End file.
